


Noble

by TheMageRebellion



Series: Of Things Noble and Otherwise [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Drug Addiction, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Now with art wow!, OCs - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, freeform romance (sort of), mentions of rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4082317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMageRebellion/pseuds/TheMageRebellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noble (adj.) 1. of a hereditary class that has special social or political status in a country or state; of or pertaining to the aristocracy. 2. of an exalted moral or mental character or excellence.</p><p>Both are broken, left shattered by pasts too painful to remember without consequence. Both find safety in the arms the other, a shoulder to lean upon but also a lover to bring light to the darkness surrounding them. Though brought together by miraculous  circumstances it might, in some twisted way, be destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Breach

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in this fandom, so any criticism is welcome. I've tagged anything that anyone might find triggering, but if something comes up and it's not tagged please let me know!  
> Many scenes will differ from the canon insofar as dialogue or the order of events in the actual romance. Other than that, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach has ripped open the sky, and a young woman has fallen out of the Fade itself- and this is only the catalyst for the events to come.

            Zara Trevelyan tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear as the harsh, biting winds of the Frostbacks tugged at her braid, only to have another strand come loose and blow into her face. She huffed in annoyance, gloved fingers still freezing and difficult to move despite (and because of) the thick leather.

            “Are you sure we’re almost there?” Daisy Cantrell called from behind her, voice slightly muffled over the howling wind.

            “How should I know?” Zara replied, the roll of her eyes going unnoticed by the other woman.

            Whatever Daisy’s reply was, it went unheard by Zara as the top large structure came into view. Hugging her cloak a little closer she hurried over the crest of the hill. In the valley below lay a sprawling stone temple, its curved roof covered in a thick layer of snow like the mountains around it. Delegate were pouring in through the massive doors, Chantry priests guiding the elderly or greeting the newcomers, and a platoon of Templars in their gleaming silverite armor lined up like a child’s toy soldiers.

            “By the Maker!” Daisy cried as she caught up, deep brown eyes widening at the sight. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes! The stories really don’t do it justice…”

            “Yeah…”

            “I wish Kipp and Tayte could see it,” the other murmured.

            “We can tell Kipp all about it when we get back to Haven tonight,” Zara replied. “For now, let’s get inside. I’d rather not freeze to death before the talks.”

            Daisy nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

            Both mages hurried down the sloped path toward the temple, Zara’s mind filled with images of food and roaring fires after the long trek from the village of Haven earlier that morning.

            They were ushered through the doors by a Chantry sister, who looked noticeably uncomfortable at the sight of their mages’ staffs despite their emaciated appearances. Zara tried not to notice or let it annoy her but still a pit formed in her stomach at the sight. _Even when we come in the name of peace they still fear us…_

            “This is incredible!” Daisy gasped, spinning in a circle as she looked around the vast entrance hall. “And to think that not ten years ago no one knew this was here…”

            “It truly is spectacular,” Zara replied with a small smile.

            “Do you think there’s enough time to look around before the talks?” she asked, excitement lighting up her eyes for the first time since they left the Free Marches.

            She considered it for a moment. “Possibly. It doesn’t start for another hour or so, and some of the delegates are still incoming. How about you look around while I find the other mage delegates? I’ll come and find you when the talks are about to start.”

            Daisy nodded and thanked her profusely before rushing off before Zara could warn her to be careful. _We already lost one delegate, and possibly another if the healers can’t do anything for Kipp. I don’t think I’d be able to handle this alone if Daisy angers one of the Templar delegates._

            “Excuse me,” Zara said as a Chantry mother passed her. “Can you tell me where the talks will be taking place?”

            “At the end of the corridor,” she replied in a soft Nevarran accent. “Everything is already in place there if you wish to find your seat.”

            “Thank you!” Zara replied with a polite smile. She walked through the door the priestess had indicated, marveling at the vaulted ceiling and expertly-hewn stone walls. _It truly is incredible that this was lost until recently,_ she thought.

            As most everyone was still congregated in the entrance hall, she encountered next to no one in the seemingly endless corridor leading to the temple’s heart. The closer she got to the large double doors, however, the more she felt a pit in her stomach that wasn’t from the distasteful looks of the Chantry sister at the entrance. She felt a shift in the Veil, goosebumps raising on her arms.

            _Something’s wrong…_

            “Now is the hour of our victory,” a deep, booming voice intoned from the end of the hall. “Bring forth the sacrifice.”

            “Why are you doing this?!” a heavily-accented female voice cried. “ _You_ of all people?!”

            “Keep the sacrifice still.”

            For several moments there was silence.

            Then came a sharp crackling noise followed by a ripple in the Veil Zara felt in her chest. She started running towards the doors.

            “Someone help me!” the woman cried out.

            Zara burst through the doors. “What’s going on here?!”

            Then, nothing.

* * *

 

            Cullen shifted atop his horse, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself as a gust of icy cold wind cut across his cheeks. _Another thing I didn’t miss from Ferelden: extreme cold._

            “Are we there yet?” Varric whined from atop his pony, somewhere behind Cullen. “I’m freezing my chest hair off back here!”

            The former Templar rolled his eyes and cast an amused—yet slightly annoyed—glance at Cassandra, who rode beside him. They’d spent the better part of a month traveling to Haven but the renowned dwarven author was _still_ finding new things to complain about every day. How the Champion and her other companions had managed for nearly a decade was beyond his understanding.

            Instead of replying, the Seeker made a brief noise of disgust.

            For a few moments, the wind blessedly stopped and the snow-covered woods around them were quiet. Not even the birds made a sound. Cullen’s gut clenched in warning, his warrior’s senses—razor-sharp after more than a decade of service to the Templars—urging him to raise his guard.

            Suddenly, far off in the distance among the sea of mountains, a brilliant green light shot skyward. The clouds parted at the shockwave and enormous plumes of dust and rock enveloped the peaks closest to the epicenter.

            “Maker’s breath!” Cullen gasped, urging his horse to a stop and eyes widening.

            A few moments later the shockwave hit them with all the force of a charging bronto, snow shaken from the trees and dust kicking up from the road, followed instantly with the tremendous boom of the explosion itself.

            As Cullen looked up, he felt his stomach drop in dread.

            Spiraling from what he could only assume was the source, green light fed an enormous tear in the sky, clouds circling as they were caught up in the pull. Though he’d been without lyrium for months, he could still feel the Veil tearing and darkness seeping along his skin.

            “Oh, shit,” Varric muttered.

            _I couldn’t have said it better myself._

* * *

            Flash of green. Blinding pain shooting up her left arm. Voices whispering and calling out. Screaming.

            _Run,_ she thought. _You have to run. Get away. Now!_

            She did just that. As she did she looked behind her, only to find a swarm of demonic spiders chasing her. Her heart sped up and she ran that much faster. When she came to the imposing cliff face, she climbed, trying to reach the glowing gold figure at the top, whose hand was reaching for her.

            _Andraste guide me,_ she thought deliriously. As she neared the top she reached for the hand…

            Pain. Blinding green light. Warm blood. Hard gravel.

            “Over there!” a voice called out.

            Shouting, then darkness.

* * *

 

            All around Cullen the world was falling apart. Ash rained down from above, and he made a point to avoid thinking about whose ashes they were. Above him was the Breach, bright green, pulsating, swirling with the chaos it had begun to sow upon the world below. Occasionally a green ball of flame would issue forth, bringing more demons out of the Fade and into reality.

            More of his soldiers had died at the hands of those demons in the last hour than he wanted to admit.

            “Over there!” one soldier called out, pointing to the base of some structure that remained of the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes.

            There came a bright flash as he, Cassandra, and Leliana turned to see what had happened. A woman fell out of the rift which had opened just minutes earlier, a golden figure standing just past it in the Fade.

            “By the Maker!” he gasped, nearly dropping his sword. As the woman hit the dirt the rift swiftly closed shut. The woman attempted to rise, but her arms gave out and she slumped into the dirt, passing out. Two soldiers ran toward her.

            “Hold there!” Cassandra called out, not yet sheathing her blade as some of the soldiers had done. “Don’t touch her yet!”

            The trio ran down a slope and over to where the woman lay. “Cullen,” Leliana said, gesturing to her.

            The former Templar knelt next to her and gingerly turned her onto her back. Despite the fact he no longer took lyrium, he could still sense the magic within her. _A mage,_ he thought, raising an eyebrow.

            She was young. _Very_ young. Probably still in her early twenties. Her olive complexion was streaked with dirt and blood, a cut beginning to scab over one closed eye. He gently opened the other one so as to not irritate the wound. Her eye, with its pale green iris, showed no signs of possession.

            He stood and turned to the Seeker and bard. “She’s fine,” he informed them. “No signs of blood magic or possession.” He gripped his sword tightly as the beginnings of a headache made itself known at his temples. _And this is only the beginning,_ he thought, remembering the ex-Templars turned lyrium addicts that had once lined Kirkwall’s streets.

            The Breach gave an angry pulse, sending forth more demons somewhere down the path. Cullen gave a silent prayer for the soldiers there.

            At the same time there came the sound of crackling energy. He looked down in time to see bright green light and energy emanate from a fresh scar the woman’s left hand. He nearly dropped his sword yet again out of shock.

            “By the Maker!” Cassandra cried, actually dropping her own blade. She looked to the two soldiers who had tried to help the woman earlier. “Bind her hands! We’re taking her to Haven.”

            Within minutes the woman was bound up and being carried down the path towards Haven. Cassandra looked at him with a grim expression. “I’ll have someone look into the mark on her hand,” she told him. “But until then we _must_ hold off the demons.”

            He nodded. “Of course, Seeker.” He looked to where the woman lay on a stretcher, the soldiers holding it anxiously looking at her hand. “I wonder who she is.”

            Cassandra looked at the woman, no hint of emotion on her face now. “That we must discover as well.”

* * *

            Zara shook at the pain radiating from her arm, up her shoulder, and into the rest of her body—the same body whose she mortality she was coming to terms with for the second time in her young life. The pain was nearly unbearable. _Just let it end,_ she thought, grimacing. _Maker, please. Just end my misery._

Not that she expected an answer.

            Another fade rift had been sealed by her hand. How many was that now? Three? She clenched and unclenched her hands in an attempt to ease the cramped feelings that came with using magic for long periods of time.

            “Well done,” the elven apostate named Solas said with a nod. “You’re becoming quite proficient at this.”

            “Not like I have a choice,” she muttered, scowling.

            Seeker Cassandra walked over to her, her expression still unreadable after the near hour they’d spent trying to reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The short-haired woman opened her mouth to say something when a soldier walked over.

            “Good to see you made it up here alive,” he said, accent Fereldan. “Thanks for your help.”

            She barely had time to take in his appearance, paying less attention than usual because she was trying so damn hard to control her expression from showing the pain she was in. All she could see for the time was blond hair, gold eyes, and a collar with black and red fur.

            “Do not thank me, Commander,” Cassandra said, glancing at the man. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

            He turned his gaze to her, and she stared back. “Commander Cullen,” he said, holding out his hand.

            “Zara,” she replied, taking his hand in a brief greeting. “Pleased to meet you.”

            “Likewise,” the Commander said. “I hope this is worth it. We’ve lost a lot of good men getting you up here.”

            “I’m doing everything I can,” Zara growled, tired of everyone doubting her despite her own skepticism. “I promise I’ll make this worth it.”

            “Cullen,” Cassandra interrupted, “cover our advance. We’re going to seal the Breach.”

            He gave a slight bow. “Of course.” He looked to Zara with a neutral expression. “After you.”

* * *

 

            Three days. Three bloody days since they’d tried to seal the Breach.

            After sealing the main rift, Zara had fallen unconscious. Demons had stopped falling out of the Breach, making their return to Haven uneventful for the most part. The moment they entered the gates they’d turned Zara over to Adan, who began the slow process of triaging her condition. The results were not as grim as they’d been when she’d first fallen out of the Fade: she’d live, at least for the time being. According to Solas, the mark on her hand had stopped growing and was no longer a threat. The wound was now scarred over, the flesh tender and pink with irritation.

            Adan had requested Templars to oversee her that first day, and Cullen himself had offered to do it. He stood in the small wooden cottage for hours, watching Zara closely. She’d muttered in her sleep almost constantly, Adan claiming it was a side effect of the fever she’d developed.

            In that time that he watched her, Cullen came to wonder about who she was before this mess. Where was she from? Did she have any family? Was she a true apostate or had she remained in whatever Circle she came from, if any?

            Did she loathe Templars as many mages had come to feel?

            As dawn broke on the second day, Leliana came to observe the former prisoner. She stood beside Cullen, arms crossed.

            “Her name is Zara Trevelyan,” the bard deadpanned.

            He raised an eyebrow. “As in the Ostwick Trevelyans?” he asked.

            She nodded. “Yes. She lived in the Ostwick Circle from the time she was thirteen until just last year, when she went missing along with more than half the Circle. No one has heard from her since then. I’ve had Josephine write to her family, telling them that she is safe.”

            “An apostate,” Cullen muttered with a hint of distaste. “The irony that she should be Andraste’s herald…” He paused for a moment. “Was she the only representative from Ostwick?”

            “No,” Leliana replied. “There were three others. One never made it to Haven and one was among those to perished at the Temple.”

            “What of the third?”

            “Kipp Reed is currently under the apothecary’s care for a fever,” said the bard. “I have an agent stationed with him should he recover. It might be that he has information on Lady Trevelyan that might prove… interesting. However, I don’t think he has much a chance of surviving. When I asked the healers they reported his condition was grim.”

            “Then all we have to rely on are those who are still in Ostwick,” he muttered.

            “Yes, and receiving information from them will take considerable time and effort.” She sighed. “I suppose we will have to be patient in the meanwhile. She might recover yet and yield further information on what occurred at the Temple.”

            Before Cullen could offer a reply, Adan walked in, and the two ceased their conversation when the apothecary dismissed the commander.

            Now, on the third day, Cullen drilled his recruits. The midmorning sun was weak, mainly because the Breach blotted out its light with an unearthly glow of its own. He observed the soldiers, looking for any mistake that would prove fatal in a real fight. _Maker knows they’ll find a battle sooner or later,_ he thought.

            Just then one of Adan’s elven assistants came running out of the gates, people stopping to hear her cry of, “The Herald’s awake!”

            Cullen raised an eyebrow. _It’s about time,_ he thought, recalling Adan’s report earlier that morning on how Zara would awaken at any time now that she’d progressed to a more stable condition.

            “Trevor, watch the recruits,” he said to one of the lieutenants. “I’m going to have a word with the Herald.”

            “Yes, Ser!” he replied, saluting.

            He jogged to the gate, opening it and finding a crowd of people already gathering near the cottage Trevelyan had been housed in. Several guards were keeping the mass at bay, allowing a clear path to the stairs that led to the tavern and Chantry.

            Lady Trevelyan stood at the top of the steps leading to the cottage, pale green eyes scanning the crowd suspiciously. Her posture reflected her noble birth: back straight, shoulders square, pointed chin held high. Her hair fell in an ebony mess about her shoulders, framing her face just so. She wore the armor they’d found her in, though it had been washed recently and lacked the bloodstains it once hosted.

            Cullen found himself staring like the rest of them. Now that she was awake and they were away from the chaos of battle, he found himself admiring her beauty. He shook his head. _Enough,_ he thought. _You’re not some slack-jawed recruit_.

            The crowd began to whisper as he pushed his way through. She was at the bottom of the steps when he fell in line with her. “My lady,” he greeted her with a slight bow.

            Her delicate eyebrows knitted together as she studied his face, not missing a detail. He felt his cheeks heat under her intense gaze, yet he found that all he could do was return her stare.

            “Commander,” she greeted him in her cool, melodic voice. “I’m supposed to meet Seeker Cassandra at the Chantry.”

            He gestured with his hand up the path. “Of course.”

* * *

           

            Zara didn’t quite know what to make of all the people staring at her. Guards saluted, workers gawked, and Chantry sisters knelt in reverence. This was hardly the treatment she’d received in her time at the Circle in Ostwick, let alone when she became an apostate.

            When she’d come to Ferelden for the Conclave, she hardly expected the events to turn out as they did. The Divine dead? A hole opened up in the sky? Demons entering reality? Tears in the Veil? The innumerable questions and oddities made her head spin.

            One of those oddities: the soldier escorting her to Haven’s Chantry, one Commander Cullen.

            He certainly didn’t have the air of a high-born officer, although he carried himself with all the dignity of the title. Who was he exactly? His accent was clearly Fereldan, yet there were certain times when he almost seemed a Marcher in his mannerisms.

            His golden hair glittered in the weak sunlight and his pale skin was flushed with cold. His golden eyes wandered yet reflected the intensity of deep thought and shrewd intelligence. She marveled at how his features worked in concert to cut such a handsome figure.

            _Now is not the time,_ she chastised herself, fighting off the blush that had begun to bloom on her cheeks.

            They walked in awkward silence the whole way to the Chantry. Poor Zara’s mind raced as she tried to come up with something, _any_ thing to say to the Commander. Sadly, she drew a blank and her lips pressed into a thin line out of resignation.

            They entered the Chantry and were met with muffled yelling from the opposite end of the hall. One voice was obviously Cassandra, the other belonging Chancellor Roderick. She couldn’t stop the anger from building in her chest at the thought of the cleric and his words the day she’d tried to seal the Breach.

            “The prisoner failed Seeker!” Roderick cried from the other side of the door. “When will you acknowledge that and give up this heresy?”

            “I will not bow so easily, Chancellor,” Cassandra objected. “There is still a chance that she might succeed.”

            “And what if she _was_ responsible for what happened at the Temple?” he asked. “What then? Will you be so quick to come to her defense?”

            Zara’s face fell. _Maker,_ she thought. _What if I_ am _responsible?_

            The Commander took notice of her expression and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Chancellor Roderick,” he said in his quiet voice. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

            She looked up at him, their eyes meeting. Strangely enough, she found comfort in his words and gaze.

            He withdrew his hand just as quickly and rubbed the back of his neck. “D-do you wish for me to go in with you?” he asked.

            She smiled. “No, it’s fine. Like you said, all bark and no bite.”

            He chuckled and she got a warm feeling in her chest. That warmth bloomed across her cheeks, much to her embarrassment. “As you wish,” he said. “Good day, Lady Trevelyan.” He bowed and turned on his heel, leaving Zara to face the music.

            She turned to the door and took a deep breath. _Here we go,_ she thought, pushing open the door.

* * *

 

            After escorting Lady Trevelyan to the Chantry, Cullen decided to catch up on paperwork in his office. Not that it was much of an office given the circumstances, merely a desk in his quarters which was nothing more than a cottage no different from Trevelyan’s.

            He glanced over a report submitted by Solas on the Breach’s status when he felt the beginnings of a headache come over him. He groaned and rubbed his temples, though it did little to alleviate his pain.

            _I must endure,_ he thought. _This is my chance._

            It was for the Inquisition, for himself. It was to prove to himself that the order no longer controlled him, that he was a different man from the broken husk he’d been after the disaster at Lake Calenhad.

            But could he be? The answer was not as clear as the day Cassandra had asked him to join the Inquisition.

            _I must try._


	2. Not Her Jailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You were a Templar, yes?" "I was."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a hundred hits in a week, wow!! ;_; Thank you so much for the kudos! With how much I've been writing I should be able to put up a chapter per week, if everything goes well. I have chapter 3 all written out, but it just needs some editing and then it'll be up depending on how much I've finished on chapter 4.

            “Block it!” Cullen barked at a recruit. “If this man were your enemy you’d be dead!”

            He found himself scowling despite his attempts not to, and ran a hand through his hair out of frustration. _Maker, they’re almost hopeless,_ he thought bitterly. He looked up and saw none other than Lady Trevelyan picking her way through the recruits, avoiding stray hits left and right. Despite the imminent threat of being knocked out by a recruit’s shield, there was no trace of concern on her elegant features.

            He fought the urge to gawk with all his might, but Maker she was lovely. Harritt had outfitted her in a new set of armor, a coat of leather and a shirt of lambswool. The new stave she’d crafted, enchanted with ice and made of obsidian, was slung across her back. A wicked blade (also made of obsidian) was attached to the end.

            “Good afternoon, Commander,” she greeted him softly, a gentle smile quirking her lips.

            “My lady,” he responded with a slight bow.

            “I was wondering if you had some time to talk,” she said, fingers knotting together anxiously as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her booted feet.

            “Of course. What do you wish to discuss?” He tried to ignore how his heart stuttered at the thought. He rested his hands on the hilt of his sword to keep them from fidgeting too much.

            She bit her full bottom lip, and his eyes traced the movement of their own volition before he blushed at his brazenness. “I figured that since we’ll be working together, I should get to know you.”

            _Sweet Maker,_ he thought, mind reeling. “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

            “Well, where’re you from?” There was so much… _innocence_ in her voice. It seemed so out of line with her extremely lean features and the dark circles under her eyes. _Malnourishment?_ he wondered.

            “I was raised in Ferelden, near Honnleath,” he said. “But between serving the Templars and now the Inquisition, I haven’t seen my home in ten years.”

            Her eyebrows drew together in concern. “You haven’t seen Ferelden in ten years?!” she said in surprise. “Are you glad to be back?”

            Cullen chuckled darkly. “The last time I was in Ferelden darkspawn were pouring across the land. And with the Breach, the rebellion, and the Divine’s murder I’ve returned to find nothing but chaos. It’s not how I imagined returning, but hopefully we can do something to amend the strife.”

            “I hope so,” Trevelyan replied, giving him a smile so genuine he felt his heart give a painful squeeze. “If you don’t mind me asking, what prompted you to leave Ferelden in the first place?”

            His blood ran cold at the thought. _Claws against the stone floor overhead, soft yet unbearably cold hands stroking his hair, voices whispering things he wanted but couldn’t give in to._ “There were… unpleasant events at the Circle at the time,” he said slowly. “I thought it best to leave afterward. Perhaps I might explain the details some other time.”

            “Oh,” Zara murmured, running a hand through her hair. “O-of course.”

            Silence fell between them, and he shifted in discomfort at it. He suddenly wished he had Varric’s gift with words.

            “So, um…” Cullen stammered, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment as a blush crept onto his cheeks. “What about you? You’re from the Free Marches, correct?”

            Zara looked almost startled at his question and he blushed more. _Maker preserve me._ “Yes,” she replied in an almost cautious tone. “Born and raised in Ostwick.”

            “And you lived in the Circle there?”

            She nodded. “Mmhmm, ever since I was thirteen, when… I came into my magic.” There was a sudden change in her expression that he couldn’t quite place, but it almost looked like sadness.

            “Some noble families make arrangements for their children to visit,” he said. “Did your parents do that with you, my lady?”

            “They did, yes,” she said, the expression passing. “I didn’t visit often due to my studies, but I always made the effort for special occasions. I attended social events on occasion.” She chuckled. “Up until last year I was quite the socialite. Of course, the whole rebel apostate thing put a damper on any hopes for my social career.”

            Despite himself, Cullen laughed aloud. The dryness of her humor was so incongruous with the shy, polite young woman Cassandra had introduced to him, Leliana, and Josephine hours earlier in the war room. It was… refreshing from his usual serious demeanor, and even he had to admit that if felt good to genuinely smile.

            When Cullen quieted he was shocked to see a blush on Zara’s almost-too-prominent cheekbones.

            Their eyes met and silence fell once more between them, though this was not an uncomfortable one. It was almost companionable, given the lightheartedness of her previous comment.

            After several moments, Zara glanced down at her feet, raven hair tumbling down her shoulders to nearly hide her face. Her shoulders heaved as she took a deep breath. “C-Commander, I… I was wondering something.”

            His heart thundered anxiously. “Yes, my lady?”

            “You were a Templar, yes?” Her tone was implacable.

            “I was,” he replied, hands gripping his sword hilt perhaps a bit too tightly. _Maker help me,_ he thought. His imagination ran wild with what she could say: that she despised Templars, that a friend or relative had died at the hands of one of the order, that one had abused her in the Circle. The list of scenarios was endless, each more terrifying than the last.

            “Wh-what _exactly_ is your opinion of mages?” she managed, looking up at him with wide eyes.

            He froze, completely taken off guard. _My opinion of…_ “I have… treated mages with mistrust in the past,” he ground out, gripping the pommel of his sword tightly. “Sometimes without cause. But that was unworthy of me, and I will try not to do so here.”

            Zara blinked in surprised. “Oh…” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I-I… well… I’m glad to hear it.” That brilliant blush bloomed across her cheeks again as she paused. “I… I should go. We’re leaving tomorrow, and there’s much to prepare.”

            _Don’t go,_ Cullen found himself thinking. “Don’t let me keep you then,” he said, bowing. “Until later, my lady.”

            Zara smiled and walked away, Cullen restraining himself from watching her leave.

            As he turned his gaze back to his recruits, footsteps approached until their owner stopped next to him. “I know of your opinion of mages,” Seeker Pentaghast said. “And I know that you are attempting to change that. But I must warn you to take care around the Herald.”

            He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”

            “We are at war, Commander,” the Nevarran explained. “None of us—least of all you—can afford to be distracted for any reason, to include past prejudices.”

            Cullen felt his anger rear up. “Are you seriously suggesting that I would mistreat the Herald?” he demanded far louder than he intended. When several recruits stuttered in their exercises upon hearing his outburst, he sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I am not her jailor, Seeker. I have no intention of letting my past get in the way of my respect for Lady Trevelyan.”

            Cassandra gave a near subtle nod. “As you like,” she said. Then she gave a small smile. “It seems the Herald respects you. She didn’t smile nearly as much when I talked to her this morning.”

            With that, Cassandra walked away, leaving Cullen with his muddled thoughts.

 

            Zara shut the door to her hut and sighed at the warmth emanating from the hearth. It was  far colder in this part of Ferelden than she was used to. The warm climate of Ostwick’s seaside location was what she found comfortable, not constant snow and biting winds. (No matter her mastery of ice magic.)

            She set her stave against a wall and shucked off her coat, gloves, and boots, sitting at the desk provided for her. She had promised Ambassador Montilyet that she’d write to her parents asking for support of the Inquisition, and that was what she intended to do.

            Dipping her quill in the inkpot, she quickly scratched out the missive. She assured Bann Aurelius and Lady Guinevere that she was alive, that the stories about the Conclave exploding were true, that Andraste had saved her by bringing her physically into the Fade, that she had been (she decided against using “pressed into service”) recruited by the Inquisition. She asked for financial support of the group given “the Maker’s will that she assist them in their holy endeavor,” and any other support they might be willing to offer. She concluded by asking about her brothers and sisters, if Evelyn had had a successful season of parties and events, if Grandmother was well, how her three nephews were, if her niece Julene was enjoying the storybooks she’d sent last spring, if her horse Naois was behaving himself (she knew he wasn’t, but it didn’t hurt to ask), if this year’s harvest had been plenty.

            As she signed the letter, “Always, Zara,” she found herself thinking about her conversation with the Commander. She sealed the letter in wax emblazoned with the Inquisition seal Josephine had let her borrow and remembered his blush, how… _adorable_ it was at how flustered he seemed to get under her gaze.

            _By the Maker,_ she thought with a sigh, waiting for the wax to cool. _Listen to how you sound, Zara! Like some love-struck apprentice fantasizing about a classmate._ She ran a hand through her hair. _Just like Katherine_ _or Gareth._

            She blushed at the thought of her former lover and… whatever she and Gareth had been before the Conclave. (She still didn’t have a damn word for it, Maker curse her.)

            Immediately Zara set another sheet of parchment in front of her and started writing. _Lethallin,_ she began.

            It took her seven tries to write the damn thing, and by the time she finished it was practically dinner. _How in the name of Andraste’s fiery arse does one write a letter to an ex… whatever we were?_ she thought, finally sealing it.

            Her stomach growled with absurd loudness. She _almost_ ignored it—her year as an apostate had not involved three square meals like her nine years in the Circle—before realizing that it was in her best interest _not_ to skip meals before travelling. (Her journey to the Conclave had proven that much.)

            With a sigh, she stood and pulled on her boots. As she walked to the tavern she thought of her letter to Gareth and the memories it had dredged up.

 

            _“And why not?” Gareth demanded, arms crossing, eyebrows and vallaslin scrunching together in frustration. “Kirkwall’s Chantry is nothing but dust and the enchanters voted to break the Circles! We can’t just stand by and do nothing, Karimah!”_

 _Zara rubbed her forehead and sighed as the copper-skinned woman put her hands to her wide hips. “The vote is void and you know it!” Karimah retorted. “Not all the senior enchanters were present, rendering Grand Enchanter Fiona’s decision baseless! Until a_ real _vote can be held we have no right to leave the Circle!”  
            “We have every right!” the elf snapped. “You know as well as I do the injustices done by the Templars! Are you just going to close your eyes to what Knight-Commander Meredith and her Knight-Captain did? And it wasn’t just in Kirkwall—some of us are not so quick to forget the loss of our families!”_

_Karimah’s plush lips pursed in annoyance. “You needn’t remind me of what they did to your clan, lethallin,” she muttered. “But we’re not talking about a few rogues; this is all of southern Thedas that’s at stake! The vote of one small group of enchanters can’t know what’s best for every Circle.”_

_Gareth opened his mouth to fire back a response, but Zara beat him to the punch. “Hush, both of you!” she growled, shutting her book with a sharp thud and standing from the alcove they had claimed in the library. “Do you want the apprentices to hear you?”_

_“Zara,” Gareth sighed, holding up his hands in what she assumed was an attempt at a placating gesture._

_“They’re terrified as it is!” she interrupted. “They don’t need to see their superiors bickering about what’s over and done. We have to show a united front, or were you sleeping when Lydia and the First Enchanter convened the meeting yesterday?”_

_He scowled and hunched over in his chair, saying nothing._

_Zara took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’ll see you both at dinner. I’ve got a class in twenty minutes.”_

Cullen barely touched his food at dinner. The nausea from his withdrawals had decided to make a sudden reappearance and yet another headache pressed at his temples. Sadly, Cassandra and Leliana had him trapped until their discussion about Trevelyan’s impending trip to the Hinterlands was finished…

            And, much to his chagrin, it didn’t seem to have any end in sight.

            They even had poor Trevelyan bored to tears as far he could tell. She scowled down at her meal with more menace that it probably deserved, barely glancing up whenever her input was required.

            After nearly an hour, Cassandra declared that their plans were sufficient and left, bidding the Herald a good night. Lady Trevelyan nodded her thanks before standing. “Goodnight,” she said briefly, walking as quickly as possible to the door.

            Leliana cocked a delicate eyebrow and looked at Josephine. “It would appear that her letters have upset her.”

            “’Letters?’” the Antivan ambassador repeated. “I only asked for Lady Zara to send one.”

            “She sent two,” the redhead replied. “One was addressed to her parents, the other to someone named Gareth. Sadly, my agents in the Free Marches have yet to gather sufficient information on the Herald to send word, and thus I do not know her connection to him. Hopefully I might be able to amend this in the coming days.”

            “At least let the poor woman have _some_ privacy,” Cullen growled, his headache getting the better of him.

            Leliana studied him with a sharp eye. “Oh, don’t worry, Commander. I’ll only tell what you need to know.”

            He shook his head and stood. “Good evening, Sister,” he snapped before stalking out of the tavern into the bitterly cold night. He shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he turned to walk to his cottage.

            At the steps leading down to the rest of the camp he found Lady Trevelyan gazing up at the Breach with a far-off, strangely sad look on her face.

            “My lady?”

            She didn’t even look at him. “May I help you, Commander?” she asked tersely.

            “Are you alright?” he asked in response, stepping closer to her tentatively as though approaching a wild animal.

            The scowl that crossed her beautiful features was made more menacing by the ethereal green glow of the Breach. “I’m fine, Commander,” Trevelyan ground out. “Now please, leave me be. I have much to do before I leave.”

            She started down the steps but Cullen quickly called out, “I hope that you might learn to trust me, Lady Trevelyan.”

            The mage stopped suddenly and he instantly regretted his words. She turned and he could’ve sworn he saw tears in her eyes. “You served in Kirkwall, yes?”

            “I did,” he replied, gripping the pommel of his sword.

            She nodded and offered no explanation as she turned on her heel and walked out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


	3. A Lady Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is in some state of annoyance or anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked Cassandra's line about how Leliana gathered "a frightening amount of information" on the Herald and how Roderick refers to Cullen as the Herald's Templar. Thus this chapter was born. Also, this fic is now being posted on tumblr! Follow me (themagerebellion) for updates on when chapters will be posted!

            **_A letter from Sister Leliana to Commander Cullen:_**

_Commander,_

_When the Herald initially came to us, everyone we spoke to wondered who she is, what kind of person she happens to be. My agents have uncovered much on her._

_Lady Zara Octavia Trevelyan is the youngest child of Bann Aurelius Trevelyan of Ostwick and Lady Guinevere Trevelyan, née Dunoir, formerly of Val Foret. The Trevelyans are a rather large and well-known clan not just within the Free Marches, but throughout southern Thedas. (Family charts we uncovered indicate an ancient relation to House Pavus of Tevinter, though all relations we asked refused to acknowledge this.) Lady Zara was, and remains, well-loved among her family and her father’s household._

_Lady Trevelyan had a relatively stable childhood at the Trevelyan estate. Her tutors report that she proved incredibly clever for one so young and that she has a passion for reading. Like many Trevelyans, she is a master horseman. She is fluent in Orlesian (mostly due to her lady mother’s origins) and even has some knowledge of Tevene._

_She came into her magic at the age of thirteen and was brought to the Ostwick Circle. She was just as studious there as in her earlier studies, and made a few friends, namely a young woman named Karimah from Wycome and a Dalish elf called Gareth who found his way into the Circle when the Herald was fourteen. She underwent her Harrowing at age fifteen and quickly rose to the title of senior enchanter by nineteen. Records from the Circle indicate some rebellious behavior—such as being outspoken for her opinions on independence from the Chantry—but, in many ways, she was a model student and leader. She is also a master alchemist and has great knowledge of botany, an asset the Inquisition would be wise to use._

_The Herald’s family made arrangements for her to visit home, mostly to prevent her from becoming estranged from them. Lady Zara made visits as often as she could, but her role as senior enchanter made those visits less frequent than Bann and Lady Trevelyan would have liked. However, Lady Trevelyan’s parents ensured that she made her debut to Ostwick’s high society at the age of sixteen. Many of the nobles my agents spoke to report that she was the crown jewel of Ostwick, charming everyone she met, no matter how few her appearances were. (No more than two a year, I’m told.)_

_When the rebellion began, Lady Trevelyan and the rest of the Ostwick Circle played no part in the fighting, choosing to remain in the tower as a neutral power. When rogue Templars attacked the Circle, many mages and Templars died in the fighting and the rest fled into the wilderness. Lady Trevelyan’s mentor, a senior enchanter named Lydia, was unfortunately one of those killed in the fighting. It was then that Lady Trevelyan simply vanished._

_Some sources say that she joined a group of apostates in the wilds several miles outside of Ostwick’s territory, others claim she went into hiding in Ostwick’s lower districts. Regardless, Lady Trevelyan remained out of contact with her family for a year and attempts to ask them about her location during this period have been unsuccessful. Therefore any knowledge about the Herald’s location before the Conclave remain a mystery that can only be solved by her own word._

_When Divine Justinia called the Conclave Lady Trevelyan left the Free Marches in order to attend. She came very close to not being there when the ship she travelled on was nearly run aground in a storm. She arrived in Haven several days before the talks were set to begin despite the delay._

_From there, the rest is history. Our lack of understanding of what occurred at the Temple of Sacred Ashes_ does _hinder what we know of Lady Trevelyan, but we cannot let that overshadow what she is capable of doing in the name of the Inquisition, or what she has already accomplished in easing the impact of the mage/Templar conflict in the Hinterlands._

_Say what you will about her—that she is dangerous, a possible murderer, a former apostate—but I believe wholeheartedly in the Herald. She is our one chance for peace and change in these troubled times, and Thedas will remember her actions for ages not yet come._

_Leliana_

 

            The Herald had been gone for three weeks when Leliana’s agents in the Free Marches sent word on their information on her. Leliana called an early morning meeting over breakfast to discuss her findings with Cullen and Josephine, having already given them both written reports they’d read the previous day.

            “Our lovely Herald has had an array of interesting experiences,” the spymaster began with a wry smile.

            Cullen shook his head. “Is is _everything_ you uncovered?” he demanded in a disgusted tone. _I thought we agreed to protect her privacy,_ he thought. _Some things should stay buried._

            “Not _everything_ ,” Leliana noted. “I could tell you all that I know if I wished, from her name day down to her favorite book. But I respect Lady Trevelyan, and I would not risk that trust by revealing all her secrets.”

            “Lady Trevelyan certainly has quite the repertoire,” Josephine said lightly. “To go through her Harrowing so young and rise to a position of power in the Circle within four years…”

            Cullen nodded. “Not many mages can boast such accomplishments.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Has there been any word from the Hinterlands?”

            Leliana shrugged and replied, “Scout Harding has yet to report back, but a raven _did_ arrive an hour ago with a report addressed in the Herald’s hand. I’ll have it sent to your desk.”

            “Thank you,” he said with a respectful nod of his head.

            Little had been heard of the Herald since her departure, making Cullen more nervous that he should have been. After the conversation that night Cullen had not been eager to see her off, instead opting to purge the growing pile of reports on his desk. His worry about her welfare had only grown with each passing day.

            After finishing their meal, the three parted ways to return to their duties. Cullen made his way back his office, once again picking up Leliana’s report to glance through it. It appeared to him, based on the information given, that the Herald was in every way the lady mage she was expected to be. She was normal in every sense, unlike his broken self.

            He groaned and let his head fall into his hands.

            _Broken_. That word repeated itself in his head over and over in a berating mantra grating on his attempts to rebuild his mind. And how could he, after everything that happened at Kinloch Hold? The events at the Circle were over and done but their influence over him continued—in his thoughts, his actions, and his dreams.

            How broken he was, with his withdrawals and nightmares—nightmares only made worse with a lack of lyrium. How could he hold any hope of having the Herald’s respect when he used to be a man run by old hurts? Maker, the thought of Lady Trevelyan’s lovely face contorting into an expression of scorn upon hearing of his past made his stomach turn.

            There came a knock at the door and Cullen sat up. “Enter,” he called.

            One of Leliana’s messengers walked in, a small letter in hand. “Sister Leliana said to give you this,” she said. “It’s the Herald’s report from the Hinterlands.”

            “Thank you,” he replied, taking the report from the messenger.

            “Ser.” The messenger saluted and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

            Cullen opened the already-unsealed envelope and pulled out the report. Lady Trevelyan’s script was a hurried cursive, probably once elegant like Josephine’s only to be rushed into untidiness by the intensive nature of her studies in the Circle. He found it… strangely endearing.

            He shook his head. _Focus, Rutherford,_ he thought.

            The report was quick, barely two pages. The Herald described the situation of the refugees, once dire only to be rectified by their efforts to secure supplies; several rifts had been discovered in the region now closed at her hand ( _Or, rather, the mark_ on _my hand,_ she wrote); the rebel mages were located but they had been unable to speak with them after being turned away at the gates of Redcliffe; conflict between mages and Templars had been reduced after raiding their respective camps; and the horsemaster had offered his stable to the Inquisition. (She wrote, _And Dennet will only agree to send the horses when security has been provided for the region. If you could have the Commander send supplies and men to build watchtowers, Leliana, that would be wonderful,_ which made Cullen smile involuntarily.) She concluded by stating that they were to begin their return journey the next morning and would be back a few days after the report was received depending on the conditions.

            She signed it simply, _Zara Trevelyan_.

            Another knock came from the door and Cullen growled, “What?!”

            The same messenger who had delivered the report burst into the cottage with an alarmed expression. “Commander, the mages and Templars…” Her voice trailed off at his annoyed expression.

            His heart sank. Many on both sides had come to Haven seeking refuge after the Breach had opened, but hostilities had been at a minimum while everyone’s main concern was closing the damn thing. It was only a matter of time before someone’s nerves snapped and the consequences were reaped.

            Cullen stood and belted on his sword. “Where are they?” he demanded.

            “At the Chantry, ser!” she chirped, following him out.

            _Maker preserve me,_ he thought, mind racing with thoughts of Kirkwall and Lake Calenhad. _Maker help us all._

 

            Zara glared down at the snow-covered ground as she, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and a small contingent of soldiers trudged their way up the road to Haven. They were still a few miles out from the settlement, but Zara was more than willing to drop her pack and find a cave to curl up in and just _let it all go_ —her anxiety had only grown since their stint in the Hinterlands, and soon it would reach a boiling point if she didn’t stop to breathe.

            Leliana had forwarded Gareth’s reply a week and half earlier, and his words had only fouled the mage’s mood further.

            That damn elf had been so damn _forgiving_! He’d reassured her that he understood her predicament and that while it hurt that she couldn’t return his affections he would respect her decision. Still, he’d addressed it _ma vhenan_ and signed it _Dareth shiral, Gareth_. Obviously nothing would get in the way of his own emotions, never mind her former uncertainty and current knowledge of her own feelings (or lack thereof).

            Zara didn’t have the strength in her heart to remain angry with him for long, though. The closer she drew to Haven, the more her anger dissipated into relief to be able to sleep once more in a bed with a roof over her head—no matter how poorly built that roof was.

            After another half hour of marching they finally reached the eastern gate of Haven. She let out a sigh of relief.

            “You alright there, Frosty?” Varric asked, walking beside her.

            “Just tired,” she replied, a slight smile twitching her lips at the dwarf’s recently bestowed nickname for her. “And in need of a hot bath.”

            He chuckled. “I hear you. Personally, I prefer the city myself. Less uneven terrain and more lively than a forest filled with angry bears.”

            Cassandra made a disgusted noise—the Seeker was still nursing wounds from their last encounter with one of the beasts.

            Zara gave a quiet laugh. “Maybe try to leave the bears out of your next novel,” she joked. “You don’t need another reason for Cassandra to rebreak your nose.”

            That earned her a small laugh out of Solas, who quickly covered it as a cough when Cassandra turned to glare at the three. Varric, however, did nothing to stifle his laughter.

            Thankfully, before Cassandra could enact her anger on the impish author Haven came into view. Recruits drilled in the snow under the hawkish gaze of the officers, Chantry priests spoke in quiet tones to villagers, and a scout on the walls rang the bell signaling their return.

            A large crowd flocked to the gate to witness the return of their Herald, but Zara wasn’t in the mood to play the hero in that moment. Her time in the Hinterlands had exhausted her, leaving her without the will to take up the mantle yet again. Not to mention her overwhelming desire to let all her anxieties go.

            The party pushed their way past the crowd and into the settlement itself. Zara turned to make her way  to her cottage but Cassandra stopped her. “I know you desire to be alone,” the older woman said knowingly. “However, I would prefer that you give your report to the others immediately.”

            Zara’s exhaustion nearly got the better of her in that moment; all she had wanted was an hour to herself to detox from the taxing journey and let the title of Herald be left at her door so she could let her tears _fall_ …

            “Very well,” she conceded with a grimace. Squaring her shoulders to hide her disappointment, she followed the Seeker up the steps and through the upper camp to the Chantry.

            There, they were met with quite the sight. On one side stood mages and on the other Templars, all of whom had obviously come the Inquisition seeking sanctuary. One of each faction stood at the fore, both gesturing in agitation while a stony-faced Commander Cullen stood between the two.

            Zara couldn’t hear precisely what was said, but the Templar raised a fist with a shout of, “Shut your mouth, mage!”

            It was then that the Commander intervened, throwing himself between the Templar and his intended target all while grabbing the Templar’s raised arm with an iron grip. “Enough!” he shouted in a tone that demanded respect. Not for the first time, Zara could see why Cassandra had chosen him to lead the Inquisition’s forces—his presence then was undeniable.

            “Knight-Captain?!”

            She winced at the title. Varric had made it no secret that the Commander was indeed the same Knight-Captain of Kirkwall who had stood by while his superior abused her charges, the same Knight-Captain who had eventually stood with the Champion against that same superior, the same Knight-Captain who had, for whatever reason, chosen to leave the order for the Inquisition.

            “That is not my title!” he snapped, rounding on the Templar. “We are no longer just Templars and mages! We are all part of the Inquisition!” When the Templar backed off Commander Cullen did not lose his tense posture. “Now back to your duties, all of you!”

            The mob scattered immediately at his order, only a few of both groups dawdling to gossip behind their hands. As they returned to their stations, Chancellor Roderick made himself known to the Commander. Zara’s jaw tightened at the sight of the cleric, anger building and burning in her chest at the memory of his accusations.

            Zara squared her shoulders once more and wiped any trace of that rage off her face—she wouldn’t give Roderick the satisfaction of knowing he could get a rise out of her. She walked up to the two.

            The Commander met her gaze, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. “Mages and Templars are already at odds without infighting here,” he growled.

            “Having trouble keeping order?” Roderick quipped with a smug expression. “I’m certain the Chantry will have little trouble putting an end to all this heresy.”

            “That won’t fix things in the here and now,” Cullen shot back.

            Zara glared at the cleric before raising an eyebrow at the Commander. “Remind me why you’re allowing the chancellor to stay?” she asked out of frustration.

            “He’s toothless,” Cullen reminded her, a slight bastardization of their conversation after Zara had first tried to seal the Breach. The disgust in his voice, aimed at Roderick, was impossible to miss. “There’s no sense turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.”

            “ _Clearly_ your Templar knows where to draw the line,” Roderick said before Zara could respond.

            Zara bristled at that, as did Cullen. “He’s not _my_ Templar,” she hissed at the same time Cullen growled, “ _Ex_ -Templar.”

            The two looked at each other with raised eyebrows and bewildered expressions. Zara was the first to look away to joke, “Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone.”

            “The walls will still be standing when you return, I can promise you that,” Cullen responded with a quick half-smile.

            Roderick’s expression became a scowl and he stalked away to whatever hole he’d crawled out of in order to antagonize her.

            “If you’re quite done,” Cassandra said, opening the Chantry doors, “the Herald and I have a report prepared.”

            Zara looked up at Cullen. She may have been what some considered an average height (she was only a few inches over five feet) but Cullen still towered over her almost intimidatingly. But she couldn’t find it in her to be intimidated when his eyes were so intense in the weak sunlight… “Shall we?”

            “After you, Herald,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my oxygen.


	4. Companionship/Smitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sides of the same coin if you will ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries* Thank you for the hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks! They mean so much!
> 
> Warning: mentions of anxiety ahead. I personally don't suffer from generalized anxiety disorder, but I've done the best I could with what I know of it. (Plus what my friend who has it has told me.) Feel free to correct me on anything in the comments!

            Zara, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric returned from Val Royeux at twilight, well after dinner had been called and about an hour before the night watch would begin to make their first rounds of Haven. In many ways Zara was relieved it had turned out this way: it meant very few would see their return, instead choosing to remain in their cottages and out of the bitter chill of the night. It was only the first week of Harvestmere, but already the cold felt like late winter. It was a cold that sank deep into Zara’s bones, making her wish for nothing but a roaring fire, a hot bath, and a hearty meal. Thankfully the late hour made it so delivering a report in the war room was not feasible until morning—a thought that made relief spread through her body.

            She brushed down the mount Dennet had given her and let the mare loose in the stalls for the entirety of the Inquisition’s (entirely too small) cavalry. Entering Haven itself, she made a hasty retreat to her cottage, where she found Leliana sitting in front of a fire already blazing in her hearth. Off to one side was a bath filled with steaming water, a fire rune glowing against the metal surface.

            “Forgive my intrusion,” the former bard said, legs crossed and posture relaxed.

            “Can I help you?” Zara asked, irritation creeping into her voice. “I was hoping that I might be alone.”

            “I came with information,” Leliana replied simply. “It will only take a moment, and then I will leave you to yourself.”

            She gave a ghost of a smile as she set down her pack and removed her coat, gloves, and boots. “Do tell,” she said, sitting in the chair across from Leliana.

            “A few months ago the Grey Wardens of Orlais vanished,” she said, wasting no breath or time. “I had hoped my contacts in the order in Ferelden might know something of it, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I would not consider their involvement, but the timing is… curious.”

            “Have you told the others?” Zara asked, cocking an eyebrow.

            “They have disregarded my suspicions,” Leliana answered. “But I know better than to ignore my intuition. My agents in the Hinterlands sent word about rumors of a Warden named Blackwall who is in the area. Please, seek him out when you can, question him. He must know _something_.”

            “I’ll see what I can do, Leliana,” she reassured the redhead with a slight smile. “Thank you for telling me this.”

            “Do not thank me yet,” she joked with a grin. There came a silence, and a far-off expression came to Leliana’s face. “You know, you remind me a great deal of Honoria.”

            “The Hero?” Zara asked with a disbelieving look.

            “Like you, she is painfully honest,” Leliana explained. “Though, she is a great deal shyer—a trait I normally wouldn’t associate with a Warden-Commander. But then, you’re both reluctant heroes.” She paused. “You even have the same eyes…”

            Zara blushed unwittingly at the admission, speechless that Leliana had spoken so openly with her.

            “Ah, but listen to me talk. I will leave you be. Good evening, Herald.” She then stood and left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

            She sat there for several more minutes, processing what Leliana had told her. Finally she shook her head and stood, removing the rest of her clothes and stepping into the bath. She sighed—the temperature was perfect.

            She submerged herself in the water and leaned back, letting the warmth seep into her chilled body. As she soaked in the bath she thought about Leliana’s words… _Reluctant heroes, indeed,_ she thought, reaching for the soap—soap Josephine had slaved to get, bless her.

            As she cleaned off the dirt and grim of travel the smell of lavender filled the air, easing her frayed nerves. Ever since she was a child she’d been using lavender-scented soap, after the family healer had explained the medicinal properties related to the flower when… when the nightmares began…

            She shuddered, unwilling to bring herself back to that time.

            To keep her mind occupied on the present and not anxiety-provoking memories, she reached for a small hand mirror next to where she had set the soap.

              Zara looked into the polished glass at her reflection. With regular meals being something provided now, health was starting to return to her features: the dark circles under her eyes were slowly fading, her cheekbones not as prominent as they’d been six weeks earlier when all this began, a healthy glow returning to her olive complexion. She smiled, and the rosebud lips of her reflection turned up in time with her.

            As thoughts of Leliana’s observation returned to her, she looked into the eyes of her reflection. Pale green irises rimmed black pupils and were framed by dark lashes looked back at her without betraying anything.

            _You even have the same eyes…_

            Zara tried to conjure a picture of the Hero based on this little piece of information. What did Honoria Amell look like? The Amells were of Marcher nobility. (With a rather scandalous relation to the Champion of Kirkwall, if she wasn’t mistaken. Wasn’t there an Amell or two somewhere in her own family tree?) Did she have the same olive skin? Did she have freckles like her brother Jean’s wife, who had been born in Starkhaven, and their daughter Julene?

            It was strange to know this about the Hero of Ferelden, making the legend more human than she’d ever been to Zara, who had only heard tales and rumors of what had transpired all those years ago. But then, how was that any different to what would happen to her? Would Josephine or even Cullen make some offhand comment  to another rising hero about how they shared some feature with her, the Herald of Andraste, a symbol lost to her humanity because of legend? She shuddered to think about it.

            Zara stood and lifted herself out of the tub, reaching for a towel to dry herself off. She tried to stall her racing thoughts, but even the scent of lavender could only do so much with these new anxieties making themselves present. She had no way of coping, no countermeasures to repel the invasive thoughts, and her heart began to race in her chest.

            She dressed quickly in soft leather breeches and a loose white tunic and a belt, still preferring boots to shoes in this climate. She threw her cloak over her shoulders and pulled the hood over her head—anonymity would serve her better than the recognition as the Herald.

            She walked quickly to the Chantry, hoping to find solace in the heavy smell of incense and old parchment. Kneeling before a small alter that had been pushed to the side in the wake of the Inquisition’s takeover of the building, she raised a taper to the wick of a candle—she had never held power over fire magic since discovering that she was a mage.

            “O Maker, hear my cry,” she recited in a desperate whisper as the flame flickered to life and she set the candle before the alter. “Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places. O Creator, see me kneel! For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, sing only the words You place in my throat. My Maker, know my heart! Take from me a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain, judge me worthy of Your endless pride…” Her voice broke and the tears welled up in her eyes.

            “My Creator judge me whole: find me well within Your grace,” a deep, familiar voice continued in place of her own. “Touch me fire that I be cleansed. Tell me that I have sung to Your approval.”

            Zara didn’t have to turn to know who it was. “O Maker, hear my cry,” she finished a voice softer than the wind. “Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory, and let the world once more see Your favor. For You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give.”

            Cullen was silent.

            “Is there anything you need, Commander?” Zara demanded, fingers tightening into fists out of anxiety; anxiety at her role of hero and anxiety that he should appear when she was so vulnerable, so broken.

            _Broken._ That was what she, Zara Trevelyan, was after so much destruction and death that had followed her for these past ten years. It was what she was when fear of the Blight tightened its grip on Ostwick, when snow fell in the garden in late spring, when Katherine pushed her away, when the Templars “cleansed” the tower, now as the Breach tore at the sky above them. How could a man of noble character like the Commander even look upon her when she was so _broken_ , like the teacup falling to the parlor floor when her mother had seen the snow from the window.

            “I-I was just going back to my quarters,” he said. “Josephine wanted a list of recruits, and then I saw you…”

            Zara stood and turned to look at the man. “I had hoped to find a moment of solace, Commander,” she replied, the coldness draining from her voice when she saw the soft expression of worry on his face. “The Canticle of Transfigurations seemed apt.”

            A quick half smile graced the Commander’s lips, and Zara at least had the decency to avoid blushing. How handsome he seemed when he smiled… “You believe Andraste blessed you,” he said. “Do you believe in the Maker, then?”

            She frowned. _Oh dear._ “That… that’s complicated,” she said, looking down at her hands as they fisted the fabric of her cloak.

            “Complicated how?” he pressed, taking a step forward.

            Zara looked up into his amber eyes, eyes that burned through her like a fire spell. Part of her wanted to back away, demand that he leave her to her racing heart and anxiety. Oh, Maker, what if his Templar abilities could detect her magic pressing against her skin, energy pleading to be let loose in a moment of emotional abandon like snow in the garden in spring…

            “I believe that He exists,” she whispered, looking at the candle she’d lit. “But… I do not believe that he has ever cared for his Creation. He has never done anything for me, or others who have suffered, like Andraste. For someone who claimed to love her, He did nothing to end her ordeal. I do not see why He would ever have cared to have turned away so willingly.”

            “Then why do you pray?” he asked, now shoulder-to-shoulder with her. He threw off heat like a furnace, and she shivered slightly. But in some strange way, that heat was more comforting than lavender or incense.

            Zara chuckled darkly. “Habit… And I find comfort in the Chant itself, the smell of the candles and incense burning. I have no love for the Chantry after my years in the Circle.”

            It was Cullen’s turn to laugh. “I can’t imagine what caused that,” he joked.

            Cassandra had been quick to tell Zara about Leliana’s trove of information on her past, and Leliana herself had asked what information she was comfortable with the others knowing. So it was no surprise that Cullen should reference her final hours in the Circle. She found herself laughing despite herself, the sound quiet in the peaceful silence of the Chantry.

            They fell into silence, smiles on their faces despite their differences in opinion.

            Finally Zara looked away with a blush spreading across her cheeks. “I… I should return to my quarters. It was a long journey and we only got back an hour ago…”

            “Would you mind if I escorted you, my lady?” Cullen asked.

            Her head snapped up, eyes widening, and she met his gaze once more. Cullen had a look of complete shock on his face, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d said.

            “I-I mean…” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck in what Zara had determined was a nervous habit. “If.. if y-you, that is…”

            “I would like that,” she replied quietly.

            The two exited the Chantry and made their way down the frozen path at a leisurely pace, careful not to let their arms brush for whatever unspoken fear that still remained nameless between them. (Zara thought it might be the whole mage/Templar thing, but to Cullen it was care not to let his affections (whatever they were) be known to her.)

            But as they walked Zara found herself grateful for his presence. His was calming, a balm for her frayed nerves. It wasn’t quite friendship, no, but something… companionable. A mutual need for another that went beyond jokes or wild stories. It was strange, but wonderful like mastering a new spell or a new alchemical formula. She reveled in this, smiling to herself as they walked.

 

            Cullen tried hard not to blush as he walked beside the Herald. It had been strange to see her so vulnerable in the Chantry as he’d found her, voice breaking in the wake of tears as she’d recited the Canticle of Transfigurations. And when she’d turned and faced him… There was no denying it then: Lady Trevelyan was beautiful, her dark skin glowing in the candlelight and raven curls framing her face just so, still slightly damp from a bath.

            Now, as he walked beside her, he couldn’t help but marvel how the moon graced her form…

            “What was it like in Ostwick?” he asked after a minute or two. “The Circle, I mean.”

            Zara pursed her lips. “It was peaceful, if a Circle could ever be called that,” she replied with a wry grin.

            He found himself laughing. “I know the feeling.”

            “I find myself curious, Commander,” she said. “Would you mind telling me about Templar training? I’ve never had the opportunity to ask.”

            Cullen looked down at her (she was a full head shorter than he) in surprise. He found himself explaining it in great detail, about how he had come to the Templars, what was studied, even the vigil when he was made one of the order. To her credit, Lady Trevelyan was a very good listener, nodding and giving noises of assent when necessary, occasionally looking at him to meet his eyes. He found it endearing.

            Then she asked about their vows.

            “And what are the vows?” she questioned. “’I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages,’ all that rot?”

            “In a way,” he replied with a smile. “We’re not to take wealth or seek glory. Our lives belong to the Maker and the Chantry.”

            “Are there rules against marriage?” she pressed. “I’ve known Templar officers to marry, but still… And what about vows of celibacy?”

            He blushed deeply. “Some… may choose to give more to the order, but t-that isn’t required,” he sputtered, caught completely off-guard.

            “Have you?” Lady Trevelyan asked, eyes glancing up at him under thick lashes. Was… was that a _smirk?_

            If her previous question had thrown him for a loop, this new query stopped him cold. Which it did quite literally, in fact. Cullen halted and stared at her, blushing harder than before, gripping the pommel of his sword to avoid fidgeting hands, wishing he could hide his face from her attentive gaze. She stopped and turned, eyes appraising his surely-red face.

            “N-no,” he managed, cursing his nervous stammer. “W-why do you… why do you ask?”

            Thankfully, the Herald managed to keep herself from laughing. Her smirk only grew and her pale green eyes danced in mirth. “No reason,” she said with a chuckle.

            “Maker’s breath,” he gasped, rubbing the back of his neck. “C-can we speak of something else?”

            Lady Trevelyan dropped the smirk and nodded respectfully. “Of course.”

            He let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

            They walked down the steps to the lower camp, once again falling into a companionable silence. Lady Trevelyan ran a hand through her wind-tousled hair, and the calming scent of lavender hung in the air at the motion.

            The scent was… oddly comforting.

            They came to a stop at her cottage. Zara looked up at him and a quiet smile crossed her lips. “Thank you,” she said. “I… I appreciate it. Not many would feel comfortable being alone with a mage.”

            Cullen was taken aback at that. The words she spoke seemed… personal, in a way. Who could ever have turned away her company simply because of who she was? “Anytime, Lady Trevelyan.” He returned her smile, pausing for a moment. “You’re rather cheery for a mage, you know. Most I’ve met were grim and had little to say.”

            She laughed, but this laugh… was different. It was louder, more natural than the polite, quiet laugh he’d come to associate with her. It was… refreshing. He blushed again, wanting nothing more than to hear it again after it had ceased. “You’re not too bad yourself, Commander,” she joked.

            They stared at each other for several moments. Light snow had begun to fall, and snowflakes clung to her hair and lashes, standing out brilliantly against her dark features. It wasn’t hard to notice how much healthier she looked now that her days of apostasy were over and she had regular meals—her cheekbones didn’t stick out nearly as much. The cold had caused her cheeks to burn a rosy color.

            Again he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…” he stammered. “I-I should go. Goodnight, Lady Trevelyan.”

            “Goodnight,” she whispered, smiling and entering her cottage.

            As her door closed, Cullen came to the frightening realization that _it_ was happening all over again, as though Kinloch Hold had come back to haunt him in a much more pleasant manner, if it could be called that.

            He was smitten with the Herald of Andraste.

            He stalked back to his quarters, wondering what in all of creation could bring him to that conclusion as a headache began to thud against his temples. But then, the answer was fairly simple: she listened. When he spoke she made eye contact, hanging onto every word and paid attention to his every phrase. She respected his comfort zone, even agreeing to change the subject when he asked her after her… rather odd line of questioning.

            And then there was her eyes, like pale jade and capable of piercing him to the core…

            The same eyes as Honoria.

            Cullen growled as he removed his armor and most of his clothes, falling into bed. That realization was going to make it extremely difficult to sleep—to say nothing of the nightmares the memories of Honoria would induce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honoria is the name of my Warden just so you know. She'll be mentioned every now and again. 
> 
> Zara is the youngest of seven children in this story. Jean, mentioned in the chapter, is the third oldest and has a daughter named Julene. Other Trevelyan family members will be mentioned over the course of the story, and some will make appearances later on. (Hence the tag about lots of OCs.)
> 
> As I said before, please correct anything I might have gotten wrong in Zara's anxiety disorder.
> 
> Kudos and comments are life <3


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day off for the Herald goes wrong after a talk with Vivienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I can't believe the love this fic is getting it's just amazing! Thank you to everyone who has left love! :D This chapter was a little short for my liking, so I added the flashback.
> 
> So a few notes on this chapter... If you play as a mage!Trevelyan Vivienne brings up Senior Enchanter Lydia. Nothing else is ever said after that, and I liked the idea of her being Trevelyan's mentor so I ran with it. The entire arch of Lydia's death isn't explored completely in this chapter (details will be interspersed throughout the fic), but I've taken some liberties with it given what little is said and part of a conversation with Cassandra. (When she asks Trevelyan about their past in the Circle, and says how it "would have required [them] to stay on the move"-- hence Zara's year spent in the wilderness.) Combined with how several towers were purged during the rebellion by rogue Templars, I came up with this.
> 
> WARNING: the following chapter contains descriptions of panic attacks!

            The next morning found Cullen rather grouchy at his lack of sleep. In the matter of three hours he managed to snap at five messengers, eight recruits, and an equally annoyed blonde elf looking for the Herald.

            He couldn’t quite recall what was said due to a growing headache, but thankfully, just before the elf could fire back a heated response, Lady Trevelyan appeared at his side. “It’s good to see that you made it, Sera,” she said with a bright smile toward the elf.

            “It’s all good, innit?” the elf, Sera, said with an uncaring shrug. She immediately dropped the scowl and gave a grin in Lady Trevelyan’s direction. “What’s it take to get some food ‘round here?”

            She pointed in the direction of the upper camp. “The tavern’s that way.”

            Sera scampered off in the direction Lady Trevelyan had indicated, leaving her and Cullen alone. “Any chance you’d like to explain?” he said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead.

            Lady Trevelyan smiled up at him, and he felt a blush creep up his cheeks.  “Sera is a member of the Friends of Red Jenny,” she said. “I recruited her in Val Royeux after… a rather odd turn of events involving her stealing some… _supplies_ from some guardsmen. Well, that and she offered her help.”

            He cocked an eyebrow. “Any other guests that we should know about? I don’t want to risk antagonizing another one of your companions.”

            She laughed that beautiful, loud laugh from the previous night, throwing her head back as she did. Cullen silently marveled at how the verdant light of the Breach only made her eyes that might brighter. “First Enchanter Vivienne is on her way as well,” she replied after she’d quieted. “She should be here in a day or two—her journey is a bit longer than Sera’s.”

            “A mage?” he asked, more than a little surprised.

            “Yes,” she replied, her eyes not missing his slightly nervous expression. “She leads the ‘last loyal mages of Thedas,’ or so she calls it.”

            Cullen chuckled at her annoyed tone. “Is that distaste I detect in your tone, Lady Trevelyan?”

            The Herald was quick to scowl. “I haven’t enough information on Madame de Fer to form a solid opinion… _yet_. But her attitudes gave me cause to be more than a little put off. She was far too quick to dismiss the cause of her fellow mages.”

            Silence fell between them as Cullen paused, taking in what she’d said. “I suppose that means you’ll be recruiting the mages, then,” he said quietly.

            Her eyes—those beautiful jade eyes—widened and her mouth hung open all in shock. “I-I…” she stuttered. “I… had planned on meeting the Grand Enchanter in Redcliffe. I think the Inquisition would benefit from what knowledge the mages have. That and… I-I sympathize with them. I know the harm the Chantry has inflicted on those pressed into the Circle.”

            He winced, knowing he’d said the wrong thing…. _again_. But he didn’t have the strength in him that morning to argue, his exhaustion still painfully evident in the dark circles under his eyes.

            “I’ll see you at the meeting. Good day, Commander,” Lady Trevelyan murmured, walking away quickly in the direction of Cassandra, where she struck up a conversation with the Seeker.

            He groaned and rubbed his forehead again. _Of course I bloody ruined it,_ he thought. _That’s all I’ve ever done._

            With a sigh, Cullen returned his gaze to his recruits, trying to remove any thought about Lady Trevelyan from his mind… rather unsuccessfully, of course. She was impossible to forget, and she knew it.

 

            Madame Vivienne arrived the next day, giving Zara enough time to recuperate from the near-constant travelling she’d done since the Breach first appeared. She took the opportunity to sleep in for once—a luxury that had been sorely missed—and read the letters her family had sent before the fire that blazed merrily in the tavern hearth.

            Her mother’s letter was full of concern and worry, as usual. Was she getting enough to eat, were they treating her well, if she found Ferelden to her liking, had she been able to manage her anxiety (she knew the answer was a soft no, but she had to ask). Christophe’s was mainly concerned with complaints about how dull Ostwick had become without her, the lack of variety in company during Great-Aunt Lucille’s summer ball, what dull company the other bachelors of Ostwick were, all the wild stories from this past season. Zara had to keep herself from laughing when he recounted—in vivid, almost terrifyingly descriptive detail—how Eleanor had pinned an unwelcome suitor to the garden wall with Christophe’s daggers without any pants or smallclothes and left him there for the entirety of the party.

            Evelyn had written six whole pages for her letter. Most of it was dedicated to chastising Zara for disappearing as she had and giving everyone cause to worry out of their minds if she was even alive. Once she’d done that she talked about her recent visit to Antiva, what interesting company one of the merchant princes had made, and how already it had begun to snow in Ostwick—an unseasonable chill that had Aurelius worried about the next crop of foals.

            As she finished the letter there came a small cough next to her. She looked up and saw a rather terrified looking Chantry sister who looked no more than sixteen. “Yes?” she asked.

            “Enchanter Vivienne would like to speak with you, my lady,” the sister said in a meek voice.

            _Oh dear,_ Zara thought. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, dismissing the girl.

            She stood and left the comforting  warmth of the tavern for the cold wind of the Frostbacks. She shivered and made her way up the snow-covered path, finally reaching the not-nearly-warm-enough Chantry. Vivienne had taken up residence there, her books and papers coating a desk off to the side.

            “Thank you for coming, my dear,” she said with a smile.

            Zara returned the look. “Of course. What is it you need?”

            “I merely had a few questions,” the enchanter replied easily. “You were from the Ostwick Circle, yes?”

            “I was,” Zara said, leaning against one of the stone pillars, letters clutched in one hand.

            “Senior Enchanter Lydia was a dear friend of mine,” the elder mage replied. “Were at all acquainted, by any chance?”

            Zara felt her heart give a painful squeeze. “She… she was my mentor,” she said. “There were few people in the Circle that I trusted as much as her. She was like a mother to me.”

            Vivienne had a tender look on her face, an expression that Zara wouldn’t have initially attributed to the iron-willed enchanter. “You were lucky to have such an intelligent woman to instruct you,” she murmured before a pained expression replaced the kindness. “I understand she was killed by one of her own students when the Ostwick Circle rebelled.”

            _Why did you bring it up?!_ Zara thought, heart beginning to thud a wild tattoo of panic as the memories came rushing back in full color. _Blood, so much blood, on her hands and the walls and pooling on the stone floor of the Harrowing chamber…_

            “Are you all right, my dear?” Vivienne asked, placing a long-fingered hand on Zara’s shoulder as Zara’s face undoubtedly contorted with fear and despair.

            “I…” Zara muttered, unable to grab onto _the words_ as they flitted through her mind at a speed beyond her comprehension… “I…” _Oh Maker no!_

            She did the only thing that made sense: she bolted, sprinting out of the Chantry and into the cold, late morning air. She raced down the path (nearly knocking down two different messengers and a Chantry sister in the process) and descended the stairs to the lower camp, making a hard right to her cottage. She threw open the door and slammed it closed when she was inside, her family’s letters falling to the wooden floor.

            Her entire body began to tremble violently from her fingertips to her toes, her knees starting to give out on her. It grew so bad that she slid to the floor, a sob bubbled up in her throat, only choked down by her out of control breathing as she began to hyperventilate. _Blood on her hands, grey eyes glassy, ebony skin growing cold, bodies strewn across the floor, the stench of death in the air…_

            Zara tried desperately to control her breathing for several minutes, but Maker it felt like she was _choking_ and her heart was going to suddenly stop from overexertion and her magic was going to burst from her skin like snow in the garden in spring…

            Finally, blessed Maker _finally_ , her panic eased after nearly a half hour. Tears had stained her cheeks and made her eyes itchy and puffy, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Maker’s breath, this was supposed to be _her day off_ from all the bullshit of playing the hero.

            There came a knock at her door and she let out a quiet snap of, “What?”

            “Madame Vivienne would like to know if you are alright, my lady,” a messenger said from the other side.

            “Yes,” she lied, leaning against the wooden wall, running a hand through her knotted hair. _Maker this is a nightmare,_ she thought.

             _You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to know where this is going._

            “Send for Master Tethras, please,” she told the messenger.

            “At once, my lady.”

 

            “ _Can anyone tell me the medicinal properties of embrium and their relation to therapeutic treatments?” Zara asked the class, gesturing to the potted plant on her desk._

_Several small hands instantly shot in the air, eager to please as ever._

_“Yes, Danica?” she asked, pointing to an apprentice with platinum blonde hair near the back._

_The girl opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a sound the door to the classroom burst open. A deathly silence fell over the class as a mage staggered in, a gaping wound in his belly. Gleaming scarlet blood stood out in contrast to the pale yellow of his robes, bronze-skinned fingers slick with it as he pressed them to the wound to keep his guts from spilling on the stone floor._

_Before the mage could collapse the Templar standing guard—Ser Collin—caught him. “The rouge T-templars… they’re… cleansing th-the tower, enchanter,” he gasped as Ser Collin lowered him to the ground._

By the Maker! _Zara thought, her heart beginning to pound._ They’ll kill us all…

_“Alright, class,” she said, mind racing as she plotted a route to safety. “Everyone with me—leave your books here, Julian!” The sixteen young apprentices—all under the age of twelve—gathered in a tight group around Zara._

_“Where will you take them?” Ser Collin asked._

_“The Templars’ quarters,” she replied, trying not to look at the now-dead mage. “It’s closest.”_

_The knight nodded as he set the mage down. “Follow me. You have sanction to engage any hostile knights, Senior Enchanter Trevelyan.” He unsheathed his greatsword and led the group into the halls of the tower, where screams of the dying and war cries of the living replaced the usual studious quiet._

 

            At dinner that night, Cullen was quick to notice that something was off with the Herald. She sat there, almost utterly silent save for when Josephine or Cassandra addressed her. She didn’t touch her food, merely sitting there and staring at her plate with an empty look in her eyes.

            Leliana said next to nothing as well, merely giving knowing, sympathetic looks to the young woman.

            “If we are to speak to the mages like you want,” Cassandra said, “we should leave as soon as possible. We don’t want to risk the possibility of them moving to a different faction in the hopes of an alliance.”

            “When do you suggest we leave?” Zara asked softly, eyes glancing up for half a moment to look at the Seeker.

            “Tomorrow morning would be ideal,” she said.  “The sooner we negotiate the alliance, the better. There are also the reports coming out of the Storm Coast and the offer from the Bull’s Chargers should you feel the need to follow up on that.”

            “Very well,” the young mage replied. “I’ll have a messenger alert Sera and Vivienne. I’d like for you to accompany me as well, Cassandra.” She paused. “If that is all, I will take my leave.”

            She stood quickly and rushed out of the tavern, raven locks fluttering behind her.

            Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand what has upset the Herald so,” she commented.

            “A matter of a personal nature,” Leliana said in a tone that implied, _Now leave it be._

            Cullen glanced between Leliana and the now-empty seat Lady Trevelyan had formerly occupied. Maker, the emptiness in her eyes chilled his insides like one of her spells. She hadn’t shifted or moved save to breathe and that _terrified_ him more than he ever wanted to admit. Whatever could give her a look like that made his blood boil as well as piqued his curiosity—it was a matter of a personal nature according to Leliana, but he sensed there was something more sinister lying behind it all.

            After nearly another hour of chatting and discussing the possible alliance with the mages, the four parted ways. Cullen left the tavern and started making his way back to his quarters, debating whether he should clear the small pile of reports that still remained on his desk.

            When he got back to his quarters, however, he picked up Leliana’s report on Lady Trevelyan, re-reading the contents over and over and over until he could recite it from memory. Almost an hour later he set down the report, sighing.

            No matter how much information Leliana gathered, Lady Trevelyan was still a mystery too far out of his reach to solve. It didn’t matter how much she laughed and smiled or asked him about his past, it didn’t change that she was closed off by a wall of ice and thorns and her own reservations about her past.

            He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. _It has to be because I was a Templar,_ he thought. _Why else would she keep her history a secret but for fear?_

            Hurt bubbled up in his chest. What else could he have expected? She had seen the destruction the order could bring, losing her mentor in an attack by Templars wanting to purge the tower she’d spent years living in. More likely than not she’d been dragged from her home by Templars upon the discovery of her magic, and at such a young age it would no doubt have warped her view of her “protectors.” How could he have any hope of showing her he was _nothing_ like that any longer?

            That was the thing that killed him: there wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another note on Zara's family: ironically, her cousin is named Evelyn, and she will definitely be making an appearance later on. (I love her character to death uwu)
> 
> Also, I made a mix on 8tracks for my tiny cinnamon roll Zara. (8tracks.com/themagerebellion/zara) Check it out if you have the time!
> 
> Let me know what you liked and what you didn't in the comments!


	6. Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen hated the next week, hated waiting for news, hated waiting to find out if the mages were acquired, if Alexius had been cooperative or had put up a fight, if Lady Trevelyan was alright…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long! The first half was difficult to write, so I mostly copied the dialogue from the game. (I wasn't happy about it, tbh) But afterwards it got easier. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments!
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains descriptions of panic attacks.

            No matter what _anyone_ insisted, the meeting was _not_ going well. Zara could already feel a headache coming on as Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen bickered incessantly about the foolishness of approaching Magister Alexius for the mages.

            _Maker’s breath,_ Zara thought, rubbing her forehead as Cullen pointed out Redcliffe Castle’s history of consistently repelling assaults. _At this rate I can_ walk _there and_ force _him to give me the mages faster than these stubborn fools can agree._

            “Redcliffe is in the hands of a _magister_ ,” Cassandra pointed out. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

            “Alexius referred to the Herald by name in his letter,” Josephine said.

            “It’s an obvious trap,” Leliana said breezily, folding her hands behind her back. “But we cannot ignore this. It must be dealt with immediately.”

            Cullen shook his head before turning to Zara, amber eyes blazing in silent rage. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means of closing those rifts. I won’t allow it.”

            Zara felt a painful squeeze around her heart at his words—was that all she was? A means to an end, no regard to the strange companionship she and Cullen had begun to develop? Maker how that thought tore at her. Before she could even think of acting on it, Leliana was ready with another argument.

            “And if we don’t we lose the mages,” the bard said in her soft voice. “We’d leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

            “Assaulting the keep would be for naught,” Josephine put in. “An _Orlesian_ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

            Cassandra looked up with a furious expression. “The magister—“

            “Has outplayed us,” Cullen interrupted with a growl.

            Zara glared down at the map as she began to think. “We can’t just give up!” she muttered, putting her hands on her hips. “There must be _something_ we can do.”

            “I agree,” Cassandra said. “We cannot accept defeat now. There must be a solution.”

            “Is there another way into the castle?” Zara asked, looking between the three on the other side of the table. “A sewer? A water course?” She thought back to the Trevelyan estate in Ostwick, with its untold number of secret passages. _Like the west wing hallway…_ She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

            “Wait,” Leliana said quietly. “There is a secret passage into the castle—an escape route for family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could sneak agents in.”

            “Too risky,” Cullen dismissed. “Those agents will be discovered well before we reach the magister.”

            Leliana once more folded her hands behind her back as she looked at Cullen. “That’s why we need a distraction… Maybe the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

            “Focus their attention on Trevelyan—“ Zara gave a sharp (though silent) intake of breath as he _finally_ said her name instead of some title to hide behind “—while we take out the Tevinters. It’s risky, but it might work.”

            The door slammed open and Zara turned to see Dorian waltz in with the same dramatic air he’d commanded when they met at Redcliffe’s chantry. She smiled. “Fortunately,” the well-groomed mage said, “they’ll have help.”

            As Dorian stopped at her side, a guard stood in the doorway. “This man says he has information on the magister and his methods, Commander,” he said to Cullen.

            Zara looked to Cullen, who was glaring pointedly at Dorian in a way that would’ve made any recruit tremble. Dorian, however, seemed unfazed. “Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” he explained. “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

            Cullen turned his gaze to Zara, concern written in every line of his face. “The plan puts you in the most immediate danger,” he said. “We can’t, in good conscious, order you to do this.”

            “This is my choice,” she said, putting on a brave face even though a (large) part of her was quaking in her boots. “We leave at dawn.”

            The meeting adjourned, and the group went their separate ways. Zara and Dorian, however, walked side by side. “Thank you for doing this,” she said.

            He waved a well-manicured hand. “Don’t thank me yet,” he replied. “You still have to avoid Alexius’ plot on your life.”

            She laughed naturally, the same loud laugh her etiquette tutor had hated and taught her to avoid for polite company. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen and Cassandra deep in conversation, though Cullen’s gaze was fixed on her and Dorian. She found herself blushing when their eyes met, looking away quickly to avoid embarrassment.

            However, this exchange did not go unnoticed by Dorian. He looked between them with a knowing smile. “He _is_ rather dashing, isn’t he?”

            She only blushed harder. “C-commander Cullen is… is a…” She trailed off as Dorian began to laugh at her flushed face and inability to speak in a full sentence.

            “Don’t worry, darling,” he said through his laughter, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

            Zara scowled as they walked out of the Chantry. “I don’t fancy him that way,” she growled.

            “Whatever you say, love,” Dorian replied, hands up in a gesture indicating his surrender. “Though if you don’t snatch him up, I might just do it myself.”

            She laughed again. “Whatever you say, Dorian,” she mocked, repeating his words.

            Before either could say anything more, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and saw none other than Commander Cullen. “Ah…” he stammered. “I… I was w-wondering if I might have a word, Lady Trevelyan.”

            “Of course, Commander,” she said with a smile, following the Commander away from Dorian, who she noticed was making several rude gestures. She made a gesture of her own and the Tevinter pretended to be shocked, much to her amusement.

            They stopped several yards away from the other mage when Cullen blurted, “My lady, I wondered if you might forgive my behavior regarding mages.”

            She cocked an eyebrow. _What on earth…?_ “What do you mean?” she asked.

            “Before you left I… said some things that were… _untoward_ regarding your choice to ally with the mages,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I merely wanted to… apologize for that.”

            Zara sucked in a breath. She remembered the conversation well, though how she remembered it Cullen hadn’t exactly been _rude_. But she recognized a pleading look in his eyes, begging for forgiveness that he felt he needed. “Thank you, Commander,” she said with a slight smile. “You apology means a great deal to me, and you have my forgiveness.”

            She tried not to notice how his shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you,” he sighed.

            For several moments they simply stared at each other, uncertain of what to say now that their moment of awkward forgiveness had passed. “Uh…” she stammered, searching for the right words. “Well, I… I need to be going… Dorian will likely have questions about the plan.”

            “R-right,” he said, cheeks red from the cold. “Good day, Lady Trevelyan.”

            “And you, serah.”

           

            Cullen hated the next week, hated waiting for news, hated waiting to find out if the mages were acquired, if Alexius had been cooperative or had put up a fight, if Lady Trevelyan was alright…

            As a headache began to beat at his temples, he let his head fall into his hands, ignoring the report on his desk. _Maker’s breath,_ he thought. It only worsened as he let the crushing weight of _waiting_ overtake him for a moment, his blood rushing in his ears, anxiety quickening his pulse, heart pounding in his chest.

            _Their footsteps clacked and pounded overhead, ringing in his ears from his magical cage. Screams of the victims of that_ abomination _pealed like cracked bells in the stone halls of the tower._

            He slammed his fist against the desk. “No!” he growled. He would _not_ submit to the memories of Kinloch Hold, not now, not when there was a job to be done.

            A loud bang jolted him out of his reverie, and he stood, drawing his sword as years of training instantly took over as instinct. _Something’s gone wrong, we’re under attack—_

            Leliana rushed up to his desk with a scrap of paper. “Read this!”

            Cullen took a moment to steady himself and regain control of his panic. _Maker’s breath._ He sheathed his sword, taking a deep breath as he took the paper from the redheaded spymaster and was met with Zara’s more rushed than usual cursive.

            _Leliana, we have the mages. Alexius in our custody. Full report upon return. Returning to Haven with haste. –Zara_

            He let out a relieved breath. “Thank the Maker,” he muttered. “Good news is just what we needed.”

            “But look at her handwriting!” Leliana cried, gesturing to the message. “She was shaking when she wrote it, and whatever happened to put Alexius under our custody was too much to write in a single report.”

            “You think it’s worse than it seems?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

            Leliana nodded. “Zara does not frighten easily at danger,” she explained. “You saw her when she tried to seal the Breach; she was calm until the end. But this?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t bode well. We must prepare for their arrival.”

            A week and a half after Zara’s message arrived, the Herald herself returned to Haven with her party, a small contingent of soldiers, a few of Leliana’s agents, Alexius (hands bound behind his back and under the hawkish gaze of Zara herself), and three dozen mages including Grand Enchanter Fiona.

            Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine met them at the gate and Cullen couldn’t help but notice the stormy expression on Lady Trevelyan’s face. She dismounted the horse Dennet had given her and passed the mare to the horsemaster himself, shouldering her pack.

            She marched up to the three. “War room,” she growled before pushing past them. “ _Now_.”

            They exchanged worried glances. Never before had Zara been so terse with them, even when she grew frustrated with their arguments over operations in the war room. It was also the first time Zara had gone out without Cassandra in her party, so they could not rely on the Seeker’s explanation of the Herald’s decisions.

            Varric stalked by and Leliana stopped him. “What happened?” she demanded.

            The dwarf lookup up at the trio, face contorted in a mix of anger and sympathy. The expression passed and he sighed. “Alexius lost it when we sprung the trap,” he muttered, glaring in the direction of the captured magister. “According to Sparkler, he tried to erase Frosty out of time completely, but it backfired. She and Dorian got sent into the future and… it didn’t turn out well.” He paused. “I should let her explain. I still don’t understand half of it.” With that, he walked away, grumbling something about hating the cold.

            “Oh dear,” Josephine sighed.

            “I fear that might be an understatement, Josie,” Leliana quipped.

            Leliana all but ran to the Chantry, Cullen and Josephine jogging in an attempt to keep up with her. The moment they reached the war room they were met with a startled Cassandra, who was staring down at Zara as she glared at the floor before her chair. For the first time, Cullen noticed burn marks on her hands and three thin scratches scored down her neck that looked to be healing. The dark circles beneath her eyes that had only just begun to fade had returned with a vengeance, deep purple against her olive skin.

            _Maker…_

            “Tell me everything,” Leliana pressed as he and Josephine took their respective places across the war table from Lady Trevelyan.

            All of the rage seemed to leave her when Leliana spoke. “Alexius expected me to go alone,” she said, quiet voice hoarse from exhaustion. “I convinced him to let the others stay for the negotiations. When Dorian and the agents arrived he… he started _raving_ , telling me that I was a mistake that needed to be corrected, how I insulted someone called ‘the Elder One.’ He tried to cast a spell, but Dorian countered it.

            “I-it… sent us into the future.” She shuddered. “A whole year ahead. In it… the Elder One had Empress Celene killed, and an army of demons swept across Thedas. Red lyrium was _everywhere_ … The Breach had swallowed the sky completely.” She paused, her voice becoming a barely-there whisper, “All because I wasn’t there to stop it.”

            She paused, obviously taking great care to keep her composure. “We defeated Alexius in the future… and…” She took a deep breath. “We managed to return to the present, and that was when King Alistair showed up. He told Fiona that the mages must leave immediately. So I… offered her a full alliance.”

            The room was deathly silent at her story. Cullen’s mind reeled. The assassination of the empress? A demon army? Red lyrium? Maker’s breath, it was a lot to swallow.

            “What are the terms of this alliance, exactly?” Josephine asked nervously.

            “Like I said, a full alliance,” Zara said softly, jade eyes meeting Josephine’s grey ones.

            Cullen felt a moment of panic grip him. If she did that then… mages would be free to their own whim with little oversight, no way to keep their powers in check—

            _You made a promise,_ he chastised himself. _She did what was necessary._ So instead of allowing his anger to show, he merely said, “Let us hope they will be enough to close the Breach.”

 

            Zara woke up screaming.

            As she tried desperately to sit up she glanced wildly at her surroundings. Oh Maker she couldn’t move her legs and her chest felt tight and she couldn’t catch her breath and she couldn’t see—

            Slowly her cottage in Haven came into focus, dimly lit by the embers that glowed in the hearth. The cage for the raven Leliana had lent her was empty after she’d sent a batch of letters to Ostwick. The scene did little to ease her panic, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.

            _Breathe in, breathe out._ Minutes passed like hours before she realized she was crying. _In, out._ Tears dripped down her cheeks and fell onto the pillow under her. _In, out._ Her thrumming pulse slowed less quickly than she would have liked. _In, out._ Her body was tangled violently in the sheets, accounting for why she felt like she couldn’t move. _In, out_. Oh Maker help her, her dreams had been so _red_ …

            Zara disentangled herself from the sheets, running a hand through her sleep-tousled hair. It had become a recurring problem, one she kept a secret from Blackwall, Varric, and even Dorian en route from Redcliffe. That _dark future_ she’d been sent to had left its scar on her, haunting her dreams at night and flashing through her mind during waking hours. No matter how the physical scars from battle and burns from contact with the Maker-damned red lyrium healed and faded there was no denying how much that corrupted future disturbed her. Seeing her friends as hallow shells, their _deaths_ …

            She took a deep, shuddering breath.

            Air, she needed air.

            She stood and pulled on the socks and trousers she’d left on the floor earlier that night. She tied her boots with a sigh before walking out into the freezing night air.

            She looked up at the sky and smiled at what few stars were visible through the light cloud cover. Maker, how she missed sneaking away from camp to watch the stars with Gareth, back before she’d unnecessarily complicated their relationship, before the Conclave, before blighted _Redcliffe_ …

            She walked, not paying much attention to where she went. Her thoughts raced wildly, flitting from one thing to the next faster than she could catch onto the little bits. She glared down at the snow-covered path and exhaled…

            …only to slam right into someone.

            “Sorry!” the person gasped, grabbing her by the shoulders as she stumbled.

            “No, it’s my fault,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “I wasn’t watching-“

            Zara looked up and met eyes with Commander Cullen, a crimson blush blooming across her cheeks when she realized _how close_ they were. By the Maker she’d never realized just how _golden_ his eyes were and how they burned through her—

            She pulled away and his hands fell to his sides. “S-sorry,” she mumbled.

            He chuckled. “It’s fine,” he replied, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. (Why did he do that? Was it a nervous habit? She could never figure it out…) A look of concern flashed across his face. “What’re you doing anyway? It’s not yet dawn.”

            “I-I…” she stammered. She looked down at her hands, folded in front of her in shame, before she sighed. “There’s no point in hiding it… Ever since Redcliffe I… I have these _nightmares_ about… about what happened…” She looked up, expecting him to be disinterested, only to see that he looked more concerned than ever. “I haven’t been… been sleeping well. Dorian’s tried talking to me but I-I just couldn’t…”

            Her voice broke, much to her horror, and she didn’t continue.

            “Y-you don’t have to talk about it if… i-if you don’t want to,” he offered.

            “No!” Zara gasped, meeting his eyes. “I… It’s fine. I needed to get that off my chest anyway.”

            Silence fell between them for several moments as a light snowfall began, the flakes sticking to her hair and lashes. A gust of wind blew by and she shivered, regretting that she had neglected to bring her cloak for warmth.

            “A-are you cold?” Cullen asked. “Here, I can—“

            Zara quickly interrupted, “I’m fine, really.” She paused. “What’re you doing out here anyway?”

            Cullen looked down in surprise, cheeks red from cold. “I’m on watch, actually.”

            “Oh,” she murmured, kicking at the snow at her feet. “I’ll leave you be then.”

            As she turned to go, he grabbed her arm. “I don’t mind,” he said in a rushed tone.

            Zara met his eyes and, after several moments, smiled.

           

            For the next two hours, Cullen and Zara stood in the exact same place chatting about nothing in particular. She asked him how his recruits were shaping up as soldiers and about the impending march on the Breach. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was grateful that she had stayed. He’d told her that he was on watch and that was why he’d been there, but the reality was that his nightmares had driven him out into the cold as well.

            As the conversation dwindled he asked her about alchemy, remembering that Leliana had mentioned in her report that Zara was a master at the craft.

            His heart thudded wildly in his chest when he saw how her eyes lit up at his question. She spent the better part of an hour actually _babbling_ excitedly about her experiments back at the Circle—most of which centered on therapeutic remedies for various disorders ranging from anxiety to muscle spasms.

            And Cullen hung onto her every word. He took in how she gestured with her hands and how she sometimes drifted into other topics without realizing it—once listing medicinal properties of royal elfroot and another time explaining how venom from a snake native to the Free Marches was a possible cure to certain disorders of the nervous system. Her jade eyes sparkled and she smiled more and Maker how he wanted to kiss her—

            _Oh no,_ he thought, blushing. _No, no, no, no…_

            Eventually the sun rose and Zara bade him farewell, leaving to discuss the mage alliance with Josephine over an early breakfast.

            Poor Cullen stood there in the snow for several more minutes, cursing himself for repeating history. _You’re a fool, Rutherford,_ he thought bitterly, scowling all the while trying repress images of a mage he’d known in a previous life.

            It had been ten years since he’d last seen Honoria Amell, and they’d parted on less than sterling terms then. It had taken him a few years to move on and even longer to rebuild himself following the events at Ferelden’s Circle, and now he felt like history was about to repeat itself.

            But he couldn’t ignore the way his heart jumped to his throat when Zara was around, that ridiculous nervous fluttering in his stomach when her eyes met his, how he desperately longed to know what her lips would feel like under his.

            “Maker’s breath,” he growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's got it bad <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	7. The Herald of Andraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go quite as planned after Zara seals the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So was it just me or did Cullen's dark circles seem really bad in the cut scenes for "In Your Heart Shall Burn?" Maybe it was the lighting, but I wanted to go into some detail about that in the initial scene of this chapter.
> 
> Shout out to that low-hanging brazier in the chantry basement that everyone has hit at one point or another.

            Zara sat back in her chair and watched the flame atop the candle flicker in the gloom of the chantry’s basement. The silence was wonderful, reminding her of her days in the Circle’s greenhouse or library.

            There came the distant sound of a door opening and she grimaced. Few people knew about her hideaway—namely Sera, since she’d unlocked the door for her all those weeks ago. Hopefully this time it was Dorian with wine.

            Loud, clanking footsteps descended the stairs. She sighed. _The Commander._

            A few moments later there came a loud metallic shaking, quickly followed by several colorful swears. She giggled as quietly as she could, knowing he’d hit his head on the brazier hanging near the staircase. (She’d done the same thing when she’d first explored the basement.)

            Zara waited a few heartbeats before standing and walking out of the small office-of-sorts. “Are you alright?” she asked with a grin.

            Cullen glared, rubbing his forehead as he approached her. “Whose blasted idea was it to put a brazier there?” he growled.

            “Who knows,” she said through her laughter. As she quieted she smiled. “Was there something you needed?”

            He stared at her for several moments, hands gripping the pommel of his sword. ( _Why_ did he do that?) “Oh, Seeker Cassandra said that… that they’re ready,” he ground out in a tone Zara hadn’t heard him use before.

            She looked more closely at him, studying his expression and the far-off look there. That was when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes, which had been present since the day they’d met, were worse than usual. He hadn’t shaved, either; his usual stubble was darker and almost a beard.

            “Are… are you alright?” she asked. “And I-I’m not talking about hitting your head on the brazier.”

            Cullen was silent for a heartbeat, a shocked expression crossing his face. _Oh Maker now I’ve done it,_ Zara thought. _I fucked up. I asked something too personal. He’s furious. He’s going to tell me to mind my own business—_

            “I… haven’t been sleeping well as of late,” he sighed.

            She felt her heart throb painfully as his shoulders slumped and the weight of his exhaustion seemed to overcome him. She wanted nothing more than to… to _help_. _Maker curse me, I’m such a fool. I sound like Gareth._ “Is there anything I can do?” she pressed gently, hand reaching out to touch his arm before pulling it away. _No, give him space,_ she chastised herself.

            His leonine eyes, intense as ever despite fatigue, met hers. “N-no,” he murmured. “Thank you, though, Lady Trevelyan.” He paused and stood a little straighter. “Would you like me to escort you to the gate?”

            _Deep breaths,_ Zara reminded herself. She snatched her staff from where it sat propped against a wall. “I’d appreciate it, Commander.”

 

            Cullen stared at the mountain pass begging, _praying_ for any sign of Zara Trevelyan.

            _Maker bring her back to us, to_ me _,_ he thought, gripping the pommel of his sword tightly in one hand. _Please let her live._

           

            _“They’ll load the trebuchets,” he said as Zara finished prepping her team. “Remember, if we are to have a chance, if_ you _are to have a chance, that thing needs to hear you.”_

_Zara looked at him with her pale green eyes and a chill ran down his spine at the cold expression on her face that was in sharp contrast to the pure terror in her eyes. “Thank you, Commander,” she murmured._

_He wanted desperately to grab her hand and pull her close. To hold her against him and whisper in her ear,_ Come back to me _. He wanted more than anything to press an urgent kiss to her lips as a final plea for her survival._

_But he didn’t._

_Zara held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure,” she said._

_He could only give her a handshake and watch as she, Blackwall, Dorian, and Varric walked out of the chantry and into the night._

            Cullen had only been able to watch in horror with everyone else as the dragon had descended and, moments after their signal went up, a projectile slam into the side of the mountain and unleash a final avalanche onto Haven itself.

            He’d felt a cold fist grip his heart when the dragon once again took flight.

            Now, just outside the camp of what remained of the Inquisition, he could only look at the mountain pass and beg the Maker to bring her back.

            Hours passed, put Cullen stubbornly kept his vigil despite the biting cold and exhaustion that had sunk into his bones. A headache had begun to pound at his temples but he ignored it, staring at the the pass, waiting, watching, _hoping_.

            Eventually, three figures came into view and Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall staggered into camp, bruised and beaten.

            “Where is she?” he demanded as Mother Giselle examined their wounds. “Did Zara make it out?”

            Dorian looked up sadly as the revered mother patched a cut on his cheek. “Cullen, she…” His voice caught. “We don’t know.”  
            Cullen wanted nothing more than to throttle the Tevinter mage. “What do you mean?” he growled, glaring between the three.

            “When the dragon made a run at us,” Varric explained, a pained expression on his face, “Zara… told us to run. Last we saw she was facing down that… that Elder One, or whatever he calls himself. I… I honestly doubt she survived with how he tossed her around.”

            Cold dread slid down his spine at the image before the revered mother shooed him away.

            Cullen trudged across camp to return to his post, to watch and wait for _some_ kind of sign that she was alive.

            _If she hasn’t returned by dawn, I’ll send out a search party. I don’t care if the rest think she’s dead._

            “Jade staring back, like when the Warden left all those years ago,” a soft voice said off to his left. “She’s delightful but detached. You want to understand, desire to know, but unable to because desire breeds destruction like the disaster at the tower.”

            Cullen stopped dead and looked at the young man, Cole. “Maker’s breath,” he growled. “I would appreciate it if you _didn’t_ say my thoughts aloud.”

            Cole looked at him with pale blue eyes as though seeing through him. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It was rattling around in your head, clanging and clicking like claws on a stone floor.”

            A shudder ran down his spine. “Cole…” he growled, gripping the pommel of his sword.

            The young man stood and began pacing wildly. “Everything passes slowly, like honey stirred into my morning tea,” he said, words flowing quicker with his agitation. “Cold coaxing me into darkness, like falling asleep only… not.” He paused, quirking his head to one side like a dog. “Smell of armor polish and leather as he walks me home, golden and bright against the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole like snow in the garden in spring… She’s in pain.”

            “What do you mean?” Cullen demanded. “Is it Zara?”

            But Cole was already gone.

            The ex-Templar sighed and returned to his post, wishing the spirit boy had given him more answers than questions.

            Footsteps approached him, but he didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

            “Do you think she’s alive?” he asked Cassandra, gaze still affixed to the mountain pass.

            “I cannot say,” the Seeker replied, folding her hands behind her. “But I pray that she is.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Have faith, Commander. The Maker may have need of her yet.”

            Much to his surprise, her words did little to reassure him.

            Minutes dragged on like hours as the cold bit into his skin and his fingers felt numb despite his gloves. _Just a few minutes more,_ he kept thinking to himself. _A few minutes more and she’ll be here, alive and well and with_ me _…_

            Eventually—Cullen had no way of knowing how long exactly—a dark figure stood out against the snow, staggering through the thick white blanket underfoot. Cullen barely caught a glimpse of a sickly green light before he shouted, “There she is!”

            He sprinted toward her, not aware for one second of the snow or cold or Cassandra shouting for some soldiers to accompany them. _She’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive…_

            Just as he reached her Zara’s knees wobbled and gave out, driving her into the snow. He followed, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her neck.

            “Cullen…” Her whisper was no more than a breath, so soft and weak he barely heard it over the wind. Maker’s breath, it was the first time she’d even said his _name_ and not his title. His heart thudded painfully at how her accent curled around it like a caress.

            “Thank the Maker you’re alive,” he murmured into her hair. “I thought I’d lost you…”

            That was when he felt her shiver violently, her entire body trembling. “Cold…”

            Cullen pulled away and looked Lady Trevelyan over. Her face was a mess of bruises and cuts, her eyelashes clumped together by snow and ice, and she held her left arm tightly to her chest suggesting further injury. _Maker’s breath, she must’ve walked through the snow for hours,_ he realized. He silently thanked the Maker she was still shivering, that the cold hadn’t taken her from them—from _him_.

            “It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, shedding his drape with the fur pauldrons to wrap her in it. “We’re going to get you help.”

            Her eyes met his for a moment, a silent look of gratitude passing between them before she passed out in his arms.

            _Thank the Maker,_ he thought, cradling her in his arms and standing. _You’re alive. You’re alive and you’re here with me._

            Cassandra rushed up to him, two soldiers trying desperately to keep up. “Is she—?”

            “Wounded,” he replied. His heart skipped a beat at how small she seemed then, curled into his chest without a care for his undoubtedly freezing steel breastplate.

            “Let’s get her to Mother Giselle,” she said, eyes softening as Zara shifted to curl closer to him. “Hopefully she’ll make it through the night.”

            Walking through camp, soldiers and refugees alike stopped to gaze in shock at them; at Zara, unconscious and muttering, and at Cullen, who did his best to keep the worry from showing on his face.

            Mother Giselle covered her mouth with her hand to hide her shock when she saw the badly-beaten Herald. But she quickly recovered, parting the flap of the tent for them. “Leave her on the cot, and I will see what I can do,” she said in her soft voice.

            An hour, two hours passed. Cullen gave up pacing like an animal caught in a cage and seated himself by the fire, staring into the flickering depths and once again finding himself praying for the woman who had so easily become a part of his world.

            _Let her live,_ he begged silently. _Please, Maker, let her live. Let her stay with me._

           

            Zara grimaced as she walked back to camp, cursing Solas for dragging her so far from the others to tell her the orb’s origins. The somewhat-short walk did little for her sprained ankle even though it was on the mend thanks to Mother Giselle and one of the mage healers. _Barely a day after surviving a blizzard and I’m liable to hurt myself again._

            “Hey, Frosty!” Varric called. “Want a drink?”

            She looked over and smiled. All of her companions were bunched around a fire, Iron Bull taking up much of the room with his bulk. Even Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were there, watching her expectantly.

            She blushed under Cullen’s stare. There was little she remembered from when she was brought into camp, but what she did was his relieved gaze and the warmth of his body as he held her, smelling of armor polish, leather, and something else that she’d couldn’t quite place.

            Zara walked over and sat beside Dorian, groaned as her tightly-bound ribcage throbbed in protest. _I hope I never break my ribs again,_ she thought. Varric passed her a wineskin and she took a grateful swig, wishing for something stronger.

            “How you feeling, boss?” Bull asked.

            “Like a mountain fell on me,” she said lightly as she passed the skin back to Varric.

            Her attempt at a joke earned her a few chuckles and several groans. “My dear,” Dorian said, draping his arm around her shoulders, “I believe it’s much too soon to say such things.”

            She laughed, loud and genuinely, before wincing as her ribs once again twinged in pain.

            “Do be careful, darling,” Vivienne warned with a stern look. “We don’t need you to puncture a lung.”

            “Yes, Mother,” Zara said, her dry tone earning her a small smile from the first enchanter.

            “Ah, let the Iron Lady worry, Frosty,” Varric said with a wave of his hand. “It’s not every day you face down an ancient darkspawn magister and his pet Archdemon and live.”

            “Just barely,” she shot back. “Almost freezing to death lessens the victory.”

            “Out of the frying pan,” Cullen offered with a smirk.

            She chuckled. “I suppose so.”

            The Commander’s eyes lingered for several moments and she felt her cheeks heat in return. _Andraste’s fiery arse,_ she thought bitterly, lowering her gaze to look at her booted toes. _Blushing like some apprentice, just like with Kat…_

            The conversation carried on without her as Dorian and Varric bickered about who had slain the most Red Templars in the attack. Bull asked for all the details of the fight against the behemoth but Zara paid them little mind, her mind wandering to the redheaded knight from Ostwick for the first time in nearly a year.

            “Zara?” Cole asked in a break in the conversation.

            “Yes, Cole?” she said, looking the young man in his pale eyes.

            “Who’s Kat?”

            She tensed and sat perfectly straight, Dorian’s arm slipping off her shoulders. She forced her expression to become completely neutral, knowing that the only ones to see through it would be Leliana and Iron Bull. “Who?”

            “Kat,” he repeated. “Standing next to the door in shining armor, Maker, like out of the stories Grandmother told me on her knee when I was little. Flaming red hair and the most beautiful blue eyes, like the sea outside my window. Freckles like the stars I miss so much to gaze at, her eyes meet mine when I look up from the parchment—”

            “Enough!” she snapped. _No, no, no!_ “That’s enough, Cole!”

            Everyone fell silent, eyes glancing between the two. Out of the corner of her eye Zara saw Leliana’s shoulders heave in a sigh.

            She stood abruptly—her ribs groaned in pain at the sudden motion—and growled a brief, “I’ll see you all tomorrow” before stalking off toward the edge of camp, sprained ankle and broken ribs be damned.

            Past the last of the tents there was an outcropping of rocks at the edge of a frozen lake. Zara sat herself there, cursing herself for not bringing grabbing a sturdier coat and blanket on her way out, pulling her knees to her chest and turning her gaze upward. She ignored the snow beneath her despite the chill that ran through her body.

            _Look at them all,_ she thought. Without the light of the fire to blot them out, the stars shone like diamonds against the black velvet sky. It had been ages since she’d last allowed herself to truly stargaze—the Inquisition had kept her entirely too busy for that kind of thing.

           

            _Zara sat several yards away from the edge of camp, knees pulled tightly to her chest and eyes turned towards the heavens. The stars were in rare form that night, glittering and blinking into existence the darker the night became._

_A warm mass sat beside her, but she didn’t need to look to know who it was._

_“Do you wanna talk about it?” Gareth asked, his shoulder brushing hers._

_“What’s there to talk about?” she murmured._

_“I know you care about peace, Zara,” the elf muttered, Dalish brogue catching on her name, running a hand through his tawny hair since grown out after a year on the run. His vallaslin scrunched as his brow drew together in thought. “But that can’t be the only reason you want to go to the Conclave.”_

_Zara sighed, finally looking away from the constellations she adored so much and cursing him for knowing her all too well. “I… I know how you feel about me,” she began, words slow as she thought them out. “But I don’t know if I feel the same.”_

_“I get it, vhenan,” he whispered._

_“Do you?” She looked at him, eyes tracing the sharp, rust-colored lines on his face that she knew so well, the same ones he’d once told her honored Ghilan’nain._

_“After everything that’s happened, I suppose so,” Gareth replied. “Sex is one thing, but love is another. For me the two aren’t mutually exclusive per se. But you… I guess that depends on what you think.”_

_Zara pursed her lips and let her mind turn his words over and over like a stone rolling down a mountain. “Time and a bit of space would be good for this,” she said after several minutes. “I’m going to the Conclave. If I come back, then we’ll continue… whatever this is. If not…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “Know that I’m sorry.”_

_Gareth nodded and silence fell between them. After several minutes he grinned at her, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, arm snaking around her shoulder to pull her closer. “What do you say we forget about all this for a little while and have a bit of fun?”_

_Zara laughed softly. “It couldn’t hurt,” she whispered before sealing their mouths in a blistering kiss._

Heavy footsteps crunched against the snow as someone approached, pulling Zara from her reverie. “Mind if I join you?” the Commander asked.

            She gestured to the space next to her. “By all means.”

            He sat beside her and risked a glance in her direction. “I know it isn’t my place,” he said, looking forward at the lake, “but I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

            “I’m… fine,” Zara ground out. Her heart thudded a wild tattoo. _Please don’t ask me what I think you’re going to. Please, please, please!_

Instead Cullen said, “The last time I watched the stars like this was before I left for Templar training.”

            Her breath caught in her throat and she gaped at the man, unable to say a thing out of pure shock. _What?!_ “Seriously?”

            He nodded, a grin pulling at his mouth and the scar there. “I used to climb out the window onto the roof of my parents’ house when I couldn’t sleep, but I never learned the constellations until my training—apparently that had something to do with being a Templar, though I never saw the point.”

            She laughed easily, trying to imagine a younger Cullen mulling over a star chart in frustration. “And they never told you why?”

            “Something to do with religious imagery,” he said lightly. “Like I said in Haven, my mind wandered.”

            Zara paused before responding. “The library in my family’s estate had such charts. One day I got bored and decided to read them under the table during an etiquette lesson while my tutor wasn’t looking.” She laughed at the memory. “Madame Reneux was _furious_ was she caught me! She didn’t even take a switch to my knuckles, she just marched me right to Mama and refused to teach me again until I’d apologized.”

            Cullen chuckled, turning his head to give her his full attention. “And did you?”

            “Of course not!” she said through her giggles. “Madame Grincheuse—that was the nickname my siblings and I gave her—was an absolute _terror_. She would take a switch to our knuckles if we _looked_ at her wrong. Any chance I got to spite that woman I took it, but reading the star charts was the final straw as far as she was concerned.”

            “What did your mother have to say about it?” he asked.

            “Oh, the usual Orlesian drivel,” she sighed. She raised her voice a few octaves and spoke in her worst impression of an Orlesian accent. “’One day you’ll meet a noble who won’t give you the time of day because you act like a Fereldan dog lord, Zara! What am I going to do with you, ma chère?’”

            This made Cullen laugh and Zara joined him unabashedly.

            A minute later they both quieted, falling into a companionable silence she hadn’t known was possible between them.

            She returned her gaze upwards and smiled. “But that didn’t dim how much I loved the stars,” she murmured. “After the Circle was purged those of us who survived fled to the wilderness several leagues from Ostwick. I… had trouble sleeping after what happened, and every night I used to sneak away from camp to watch the stars. The first enchanter hated when I did that because he always worried I’d be caught by Templars, but I.. had Gareth with me.”

            “Leliana’s report mentioned him,” Cullen said quietly. “He was a friend of yours in the Circle?”

            “I… yes.” She frowned and looked down at her booted toes. “He was always protective of me, even before the attack. The second or third week I snuck away he followed me.”

 

            _“What’re you doing?”_

_Zara jumped and spun around, calling on her magic, heart pounding through her chest. Ice crystals danced at her fingertips as she met Gareth’s dark brown eyes. “You arse!” she hissed. “Another second and I’d have put an icicle between your eyes!”_

_“As if,” he said lightly. He was leaned casually against a tree, his usual shit-eating grin on his face. He pushed away from the tree and strolled closer. “You didn’t answer my question.”_

_Her magic receded like the tide and she hung her head in embarrassment. “I… I couldn’t sleep.”_

_“Lydia?” he asked, standing so close before her she could smell the smoke from the fire on his torn robes._

_She nodded._

_“If you want to talk about, I’m all ears.” He paused and chuckled. “Get it,_ ears _? Because I’m an elf?”_

_Zara let a smile flicker across her lips, meeting his gaze._

_Gareth was silent as his eyes softened further as he watched her. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”_

_“You could stand to mention it,” she joked, her face darkening as a blush crept up her neck._

_In a whirl of movement his lips were on hers, a messy flurry of teeth and chapped skin catching. She could taste the apple he’d eaten earlier on his breath and her eyes fluttered shut as he pulled her close, their bodies flush and hot—_

           

            “Zara?”

            Once again Cullen pulled her from memory. She blinked and met his eyes, golden and blazing in the dark. “Huh?”

            “I asked if you were alright,” he said, eyebrows drawing together.

            She nodded slowly. “I just… miss them. My friends, I mean.” She felt her eyebrows pull together as she let her thoughts flit by like birds. “Can I tell you something, Commander?”

            “Of course,” he replied.

            “Back… back at Haven,” she began, her words slow and measured, “before everything at Redcliffe… _someone_ once told me that running would be preferable to the alternative.”

            “What do you mean?” Cullen asked, shifting to rest an arm on his knee.

            “’You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to know where this is going,’” Zara muttered. “That’s what Varric told me. And I… I _believed_ it. I… felt _overwhelmed_ by everything. So… I planned on running away, after securing the mages and sealing the Breach.”

            Cullen was silent for several moments, obviously processing this. “What changed?”

            “Redcliffe,” she whispered. “That dark future it… it made me realize that the Inquisition couldn’t succeed without me.” She pursed her lips in thought. “And I realized I’m glad for the friends I’ve made here.”

She risked a glance at him, and saw his cheeks were red (probably from the cold) and there was a distant smile on his face. “What?”

            Cullen blinked and the expression was gone. “Oh, uh, n-nothing! Just… just wondering if… maybe you consider me a-a friend…” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “That sounded less strange in my head.”

            Zara felt a smile cross her face at his admission. But did she consider him a friend? They’d talked in Haven, mostly regarding the Inquisition except for that half-hour she’d blathered on about her experiments. But… Zara found herself wanting to say yes, especially after he’d walked her from the Chantry that one night her anxiety had been too great to manage alone. That feeling of companionship had not dwindled in her eyes.

            “I-I believe I do,” she said with a grin.

            And for the next hour they sat like that in perfect silence, neither aware of the child-like grins on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry this took so long! Unfortunately I've been extremely busy with stuff for uni and it's been stressing me out to the point where I don't want to write. But thankfully I've got most of it sorted now, so I was able to complete this chapter! However, I leave for school next month (ahhhhhhh!) and I don't quite know what my schedule will look like once I start, so updates might become few and far between depending on how things go. (My 14 hour flight will definitely give me some time to work though!)
> 
> So with the attack on Haven out of the way, things should be picking up as far as their relationship. ;) As always, kudos and comments are always appreciated! Let me know what you liked or what needs some work!


	8. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was when he realized he would follow her wherever she bade: up the tallest peak of the Frostbacks, through the Deep Roads, across endless wastelands, to the bottom of the deepest ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... was a bitch to write. I've been having mental health issues, making it difficult to work and /stay/ motivated to work for long periods of time. So there were times when I couldn't even look a the damn thing but others where I'd work for hours on end but... I finally finished the chapter. :D
> 
> Also, this chapter is a bit long (4,000 words). Sorry, but I needed to get a lot said about their pre-relationship in Skyhold. :/
> 
> This chapter is mainly a springboard into the next couple of chapters, all leading up to the scene on the battlements! ;) So expect some angst and /lots/ of bad attempts of flirting on both sides!
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks/drug use!

            It took nine days to travel to Skyhold. It would have taken less time normally, according to Solas, but between the wounded, elderly, and children going was slow. By the time they arrived Zara was more than grateful for the barely heated water in the copper tub Josephine had provided for her temporary quarters near the main gate. She sank into the water with a heavy sigh. _Damn my inability to cast fire spells,_ she thought.

            Still, lukewarm water was better than freezing to death in a blizzard.

            _The wind bit at her face and howled in her ears, tearing at her hair violently. She drew her arms around herself and staggered forward. The snow reached up to her knees but she_ had _to keep moving._ Stop and you die, _she thought as a tremor ran through her body at the sheer, agonizing cold that sank into her bones to the point where each step was absolute torment on her joints, which cracked and snapped with each movement like she was already frozen on the inside._

_But oh how death seemed easier, just to lie there and let the cold take her, just like the cavernous dark of the tunnel in the west wing that threatened to swallow her whole as her blood pooled on the rough stone—_

            Zara’s eyes snapped open as she felt her heart begin to beat out of control and her breath leave her lungs in a single moment… Her hands gripped the edge of the tub until her knuckles turned white. _No, no no! I can’t—_

            There was a knock at the door and it took all of Zara’s strength to give a weak reply. “Yes?” she squeaked. _Please don’t open the door! Don’t let anyone see me like this!_

            “My lady?” Leliana asked from the other side. “May I come in?”

            _In, out… In, out…_ “I’m bathing.”

            The spymaster chuckled. “I promise not to look.”

            Her heart rate slowed after several moments and a relieved sigh bubbled up in her chest. “Very well.”

            The door opened and shut but Zara kept her eyes shut for several moments, secretly hoping that Leliana didn’t notice her near panic attack. When she opened them she smiled at the other woman. “How can I help?”

            “A courier arrived,” she said, holding up several sealed envelopes and gesturing to a package under her arm.

            She ran a hand through her dark hair. “From Ostwick, I presume.” She sighed. “Who are they from?”

            “Your father, grandmother, both of your sisters, Charles, Evelyn, a note from your niece, and a package from your mother along with a letter.”

            “Why’re you giving me these?” she asked. “We have runners.”

            Leliana sighed before setting down the items and seating herself in the chair at the desk. “I know about your plan.”

            Zara froze as she reached for the soap. _Maker help me,_ she thought. _I knew I shouldn’t have told Cullen._ “Who told you?”

            “Your paper trail wasn’t as clever as you and Varric thought,” she said easily, plucking a strand of horsehair from her cowl. She cast an easygoing glance at her. “But not to worry. Varric told me you backed out after Redcliffe.”

            _No, no, no no!_ “Why bring this up?” she said, voice sounding strangled to her own ears.

            “I need to know the Inquisition has your absolute loyalty.”

            She sighed and finished the motion, grabbing the (sadly unscented) soap before dragging it along her skin. “Completely. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that the Inquisition needs my help. Without me—and, by extension, the Anchor—Corypheus will destroy everything. I will not let that happen.”

            Leliana nodded. “Good. We may have need of you yet.” She stood. “When you’re done, meet us in the courtyard. Cassandra wanted to have a few words with you.”

            The bard left in a near-hurry, the door nearly slamming shut behind her.

            _At least she didn’t slit my throat,_ Zara thought with a slight grin. _And hopefully Cassandra doesn’t hang me from the battlements._

* * *

 

            “So we’re in agreement?” Josephine asked, glancing between the other advisors. “No objections whatsoever?”

            “Absolutely,” Cullen replied. “Lady Trevelyan has more than proven herself to the Inquisition.”

            Across the courtyard a movement caught his eye. Lady Trevelyan stood in the doorway to her temporary quarters, pale green eyes taking in everything around her. Cullen felt the air leave his lungs at how absolutely _beautiful_ she was in the late-morning light with her raven curls in a wild disarray and lips parted as though to speak. Though she wore an ill-fitting tunic and the trousers of her armor, in Cullen’s eyes she looked _radiant_.

            Cassandra nodded and the group parted. He cast one last glance at Zara over his shoulder, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart thudded painfully fast in his chest. She moved with such grace and when her lips curved in a smile at something Cassandra said he couldn’t help but remember two nights after the attack on Haven, when they’d watched the stars and she told him about her etiquette tutor.

            “Careful, Commander,” Josephine said in a light, joking tone. “If you continue to stare she’s bound to notice.”

            Cullen’s eyes widened and he looked at the ambassador, a knowing smirk on her face. “I wasn’t… I’m not…!”

            She giggled. “Oh don’t worry, Cullen,” she said, touching a hand to his armored shoulder. “I promise not to tell.”

            But poor Cullen was still too busy stammering out half-sentences of denial, mostly to the effect of “please tell me it wasn’t that noticeable.” Yet Josephine paid him no mind, instead turning her gaze to the landing above the courtyard.

            He took a deep breath to settle his nerves (although he was certain his blush hadn’t faded) and then looked up at the woman who had saved them all.

            It had been three days since he, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra had agreed to approach Zara for the title of Inquisitor. After all, it had been she who had stalled the Elder One long enough for most everyone to escape, she who cast down a mountain upon the creature and its blighted companion, she who staggered through a blizzard to find her way back to hi— _them_. She had led them through the wilderness to Skyhold. There was no longer any question about whether or not she was capable of leading the Inquisition to victory.

            Now, as a crowd of refugees and pilgrims gathered, Cassandra offered her the position they knew her worthy to shoulder. Leliana held out a ceremonial blade, one Cullen was almost certain Zara would never use again given her abilities. There was a look of shock on the mage’s face, and for the slightest moment Cullen could’ve sworn her eyes met his as she looked at the gathering throng.

            She exchanged a few more words with the Seeker before tentatively reaching out to take the blade from Leliana’s hands.

            Her next words were as clear as day: _I’ll be example of what a mage can be. I will stand_ with _them, not over them._

            That was when he realized he would follow her wherever she bade: up the tallest peak of the Frostbacks, through the Deep Roads, across endless wastelands, to the bottom of the deepest ocean.

            “Have our people been told?” Cassandra asked, looking to Josephine.

            “They have,” the ambassador replied with a smile. “And soon, the world!”

            “Commander, will they follow?”

            Cullen felt a smile tug at his lips, and he turned to the crowd. “Inquisition, will you follow?” he asked.

            A cry of affirmation went up from the pilgrims, refugees and soldiers.

            “Will you fight?” Another round of shouts. “Will we triumph?” The cheers grew louder until it was a roar.

            “Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!” He drew his sword in a salute to Zara, who returned the salute after a moment, a determined expression on her face.

            _Maker watch over us all,_ he thought, lowering his sword after a minute.

            After nearly a half-hour of celebration (mostly Zara nodding and waving respectfully to the cheering masses), Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and the newly-appointed Inquisitor managed to slip away for a brief meeting—during which Cullen could hardly keep his eyes off Zara, much to his own shame.

            Sunlight peeked through the holes in the ceiling, casting Zara in rays of gold that glinted darkly off her unruly raven curls and set her jade eyes dancing. She was ethereal, divine, the center of his entire existence in that moment.

            As their conversation veered toward the topic of Corypheus, Zara looked to him with a steely expression. “Someone out there must know _something_ about Corypheus.”

            “Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists,” Cullen muttered, crossing his arms.

            Zara sighed and her shoulders slumped for the briefest of moments before she once again steeled her posture. “Leliana, have your agents see what they can find.” The spymaster nodded. “Cullen, do you think you might be able to spare a few squads to scout Haven? It’s possible there may be survivors as well as pilgrims who don’t know how to find Skyhold.”

            His heart constricted painfully as, for the second time since they’d met, she said his name. This was no longer the soft whisper of a woman on the verge of death but as a _friend_ , accent gently forming it and _Maker_ what he wouldn’t give to hear her say it again and again and _again_ …

            “At once, Inquisitor,” he replied with a respectful bow.

            Almost immediately he regretted not using her name, for not returning the trust she conveyed to him just by saying his name and not his title. His bitterness only increased as his temples began to pound in a headache that made him want to abandon his duties for the day and sleep for an age.

            But it was too late to take it back, and so the four went their separate ways to attend to their duties. Cullen cursed himself the whole way to the lower courtyard for being such a Maker-damned _fool_.

            So avoid thinking about Lady Trevelyan and her beautiful eyes, he threw himself into his work—setting guard rotations, sorting through reports, sending out orders. It was surprising how easy it was to block out all distractions when he was so busy, but Maker if it didn’t exhaust him after nine days of marching through snow and the bitter cold of the Frostbacks.

            He summoned two of his lieutenants and passed along the Inquisitor’s order to scout Haven, and so it fell to him to assist in organizing them and requisitioning supplies for their long march back to the ruined town.

            Three hours later, Lady Trevelyan made an appearance in the courtyard. Cullen tried to avoid staring as she, Vivienne, Cassandra, and Solas fell into a heated debate about some matter or another.  But Maker he couldn’t avoid glancing up every now and again to catch a glimpse of how she gestured with her hands and how she tucked a stray strand of raven hair behind her ear after it fell into her face one time too many.

            The group scattered and he felt his heart constrict as she walked past him to speak with the boy Cole, who watched over the makeshift infirmary hawkishly. They exchanged a few words before Zara patted him on the shoulder with that heartbreakingly beautiful smile of hers crossing her lips that, for once, _stayed there_ after she walked away…

            And made a beeline for Cullen.

            “Commander,” a recruit, a lad named Jim, said, stepping up next to him, “Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

            “Excellent,” Cullen replied, glancing up from a different report than the one Jim had just handed him. “I’ll need an update on the armory as well.”

            When Jim hesitated he turned to the lad and growled, “ _Now!_ ”

            He scurried off and Zara came to stand next to him, hands folded before her and that gentle smile on her face.

            “We set up as best as we could at Haven,” Cullen sighed. “With some warning we might have been able to…” His voice trailed off as his thoughts began to race. To what? To flee? To fight? To tell Zara how his heart pounded when she was near?

            “Do you ever sleep?” Zara teased, quirking an eyebrow.

            He chuckled. “Not as often as I should,” he said dryly. “Our defenses must be ready if Corypheus strikes. We will _not_ run from here, Inquisitor.”

            There was a pause before Zara spoke. “How many were lost?” Her voice was soft, almost as though she were scared to know the answer to her question.

            “Not as many as we could have,” he reassured her gently. “Thanks to you many had time to escape. And morale has greatly improved since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.” He’d heard the talk among the soldiers and refugees, the pride and awe in their voices at Zara’s steel will and how she’d lead them out of the wilds to Skyhold. But he kept his own feelings to himself; there was no sense is bothering Zara with how much he adored her in his private thoughts. He returned his gaze to the reports as he hunched over the makeshift desk.

            “Inquisitor Trevelyan,” she mused softly, and he could practically hear her brow furrowing. “It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

            Cullen looked up in shock, meeting her curious gaze. “Not at all.”

            She laughed softly. “Is that the official response?”

            He stood straight and smiled. “It may sound that way, but it’s the truth,” he said. “We needed a leader, and you’ve more than proven yourself capable.”

            When Zara smiled warmly at him, the expression touching her eyes in a way he rarely saw, he was helpless but to succumb to the fluttering in his stomach—for once _not_ caused by nausea induced by his withdrawals—and return a smile in kind.

            Then her gaze dropped to her feet and she shifted from foot to foot. “Listen, um…” she stammered. “About what happened at Haven…” Her jade eyes met his once more. “It was close. I’m glad that you—that so many of us made it.”

            _Maker’s breath!_ If she was saying what Cullen _thought_ she was saying… “As am I…” he said softly.

            Zara smiled ruefully and turned to move away when Cullen reached out and touched her shoulder. “You stayed behind,” he blurted. They stared at each other in shock for several moments before he continued, “I swear to you I will not allow the events at Haven to be repeated.”

            She studied his expression for a long while. What she hoped to find, he had no idea. “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching up and squeezing his hand reassuringly. Cullen felt his heart constrict in time with her motion, longing to feel the softness of her skin against his own…

            And with that, she bid him a good day and left him to his thoughts—muddled as they were. 

* * *

 

            A week after they moved into the keep, Zara’s nerves were at their bitter end. She’d had little to no time to herself whether to eat or sleep. She was constantly pulled into one meeting or another and the amount of paperwork she had to go through was piled high on her desk at all times no matter her attempts to work through it.

            So when Zara was pulled into _yet another_ war table meeting with her advisors, she bitterly grumbled to herself about needing a moment to let everything go in minute of emotional abandon. She tried to calm her frantic heartbeat (Was she good enough to be Inquisitor? What if more died at her order? Maker, all the men and women who’d died at Haven she could’ve saved…) but, at the moment, there was nothing to be done.

            “The soldiers we sent to Haven report nothing out of the ordinary, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “It appears neither Corypheus nor the Red Templars have stayed in the area.”

            “Have they found any survivors?” Zara asked, voice quiet out of sheer exhaustion. _Just ten more minutes and you can find a quiet spot,_ she thought, desperately hanging on to her last bit of control over the wave of anxiety that threatened to consume her.

            “A few have been located,” he replied. “But excavation is slow.”

            She nodded and suddenly it was all too _much_. She felt tears well up in her eyes at the thought of the long list of names of those they’d lost she’d made herself read that morning, personally writing to each of their families to express her condolences. What good was she as a leader if she couldn’t save her people? How many could she have saved if she’d insisted they watch the mountain pass for any sign of the army that had taken them by surprise…

            “Excuse me,” she muttered, turning and bolting out of the room without another word to any of them.

            The enormous door slammed shut behind her and she sprinted away from the war table, her advisors, and the self called “Inquisitor.”

            Past Josephine’s office she took a hard right and almost tumbled down the stairs leading to Skyhold’s kitchens and the lower library that remained unused. Halfway down she gave up trying to put one foot in front of the other and collapsed onto the stone steps. Her chest felt tight as she tried (unsuccessfully) to regain control of her breathing and racing heartbeat.

            “Inquisitor?”

            _No!_ Zara thought wildly. _No, no, no, no!_ He couldn’t be here, he couldn’t see her like this—at her lowest and without the restraint of the steel will she always clung to so desperately. She opened her mouth to reply but she only sobbed.

            Metal-clad footsteps hurriedly descended the steps as she prayed to a Maker she knew wasn’t listening.

            “Zara?” Cullen asked, worry coloring his tone, and then he was kneeling before her. His golden eyes studied her carefully, taking in her tear-stained face and hands fisted in her own hair.

            _Stop looking at me!_ she silently pleaded. _Please, please, please!_

            She didn’t need his sympathy, his professional concern. She _needed_ a friend who knew her, how to handle this side of Zara Octavia Trevelyan that only a handful had ever seen. She needed Karimah and the warmth of her arms around her shoulders as she sobbed. What she wouldn’t give to have the elder girl there at that moment…

            There came the creak of leather and calloused hands tentatively reached for her own, gently untangling them from her wild curls. She stared down at her boots, trying desperately to cling to the small comfort of his large, calloused hands reassuringly holding her own.

            “Have you had panic attacks before?” he murmured.

            She nodded fiercely.

            “Do you know what triggered it?” he asked gently.

            Zara nodded again, squeezing his hands until her knuckles turned white like he was a lifeboat in a storm.

            “Do you need me to do anything?” he murmured, voice low and soft.

            What _did_ she need him to do? She tried to hold onto the thought that was there and gone in an instant and oh Maker, she could barely _breathe_ let alone form a coherent thought…

            “Tell me a story,” her lips said, but no sound came out. Again she squeezed his hands, desperately hoping that he understood.

            “The last two years of my Templar training,” Cullen began, “they stationed a few of us recruits in the Circle in Kinloch Hold.” His voice was soft and the deep baritone rumbled from his chest to permeate her being with warmth, easing her sobs somewhat. “One night we stopped in a Chantry not far from Redcliffe. Everything seemed completely normal, until I woke up in the morning to someone screaming bloody murder.”

            She cocked an eyebrow, intrusive thoughts and hammering heart momentarily forgotten as she saw the mirth in his eyes. “What happened?” she asked, voice hoarse from her tears.

            He chuckled. “I ran out into the chapel, sword in hand, only to see a recruit about my age sitting in one of the pews. He turned, looked at me, and said, ‘Just making sure someone’s here.’” He paused when she gave a weak laugh. “Do you know who it was?”

            “Who?” Zara asked, unable to keep the growing smile off her face.

            “Alistair Theirin,” he replied with a lopsided grin.

            Zara couldn’t help but laugh through her tears. Even if he did make it up on the spot for her benefit, it at least momentarily eased the wild fluttering of her heart. His hands still held hers, skin warm against her own, and the panic twisting her stomach into knots lessened.

            They sat like that for several minutes: Zara fighting to control her erratic breathing, occasionally squeezing Cullen’s hands with her own, trying her damned hardest to think about the feeling of his warm skin instead of troop casualties, sobs causing her shoulder to shake every now and again.

            Ever so slowly, the twisting in her gut eased and her heart returned to a (somewhat) normal pace. She risked a glance up at Cullen and met his eyes, heart throbbing in secret joy at the patient concern she found there.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, voice hoarse from sobbing.

            “Anytime.” His reply was soft, barely a breath, yet the warmth in his tone brought a slight smile to her face.

            Zara found herself unable to look away from him then. She took in the worried creases in his brow, the reassuring smile that pulled at the scar on his lip oh so handsomely—

            _No,_ part of her thought. _Not now._

            She carefully pulled her hands out of the warmth of his, wiping her eyes. “We should get back to the war room.”

            “Yes…” he murmured in reply.

            They stood and Zara straightened her tunic, loathing that her eyes were likely red and puffy from crying and her hair so disheveled. She turned and made her way up the stairs when Cullen called out to her as she reached the door leading to Josephine’s office.

            “Zara?”

            She looked over her shoulder and saw he was still standing in the same spot. “Yes?”

            “If it happens again,” he said, “don’t be afraid to find me.”

            Zara cursed the blush that spilled across her cheeks, but she still found it in her to smile. “Always.” 

* * *

 

            Cullen glared down at the box on his desk, fighting the itch in his veins and the near-blinding pain that had started behind his eyes only to spread to his temples. Several vials of glimmering blue lyrium were set before him; their siren song was almost impossible to ignore, yet he clung tightly to his wavering control.

            _I can’t give in,_ he thought desperately. _I won’t!_

            How long had it been now? Six, seven months? Eight? Already it felt like an eternity.

            There came a soft knock on the door and he growled, “What?” _Maybe an open door policy wasn’t the best idea…_

            The door opened to reveal Zara, brow creased in… concern? Agitation? It was hard to tell. “Hey,” she murmured, shutting the door quietly behind her.

            Cullen barely managed a smile in return. “I-Inquisitor,” he stammered, standing straight and gripping the pommel of his sword to conceal the tremor in his hands. His stomach lurched in protest and he felt the color drain from his face. It was all he could do to stand upright and hope she didn’t notice.

            She waved a hand in disregard. “Please, Cullen, call me Zara. I think we’re well past titles at this point.”

            _Maker, if only it were that easy._

             “Very well, Inqui— _Zara_.” It felt strange on his tongue, but he felt like he would grow to love it in time. “Was there something I could help you with?”

            She shuffled closer to his desk sheepishly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I-I… I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day.”

            “Oh,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he remembered the previous day, how the silky smooth skin of her hands against his. “I… well, um, it-it was nothing…”

            “Cullen, hear me out,” she said, cutting him off. “I…” She huffed, brushing aside a loose strand of raven hair back into place in her braid. “I haven’t had my best friend to help me get through this, and I never thought anyone here would be able to… to not only help, but _understand_ when I’m overcome.” She paused. “And that you didn’t automatically assume I’d freeze the whole keep as a result.” He chuckled, and she smiled appreciatively. “What you did… Cullen, what you did means the world to me. And I appreciate that you offered to help in the future.”

            Cullen wanted to reply, but the words got stuck in his throat. He was caught on the weak smile she was giving him and how the light filtering in through the windows cast her in shades of gold. He momentarily forgot all about his withdrawals and the lyrium kit on his desk.

            “I-I…” he stammered. “You’re welcome, Zara.”

            There was a pause, and he momentarily considered telling her why it was so easy for him to sympathize; about his time in Kinloch Hold, Uldred’s betrayal of the Circle, the atrocities he’d committed in Kirkwall that still haunted his footsteps.

            Zara bit her lip and nodded. “Well, I’ll just leave you to your work. Thank you again, Cullen.”

            As she turned to go Cullen took a steadying breath and dredged up what remained of his courage. “There _is_ something I’d like to discuss, Inquisitor, if you’ve a moment.”

            She turned to look at him, worried creases on her brow. “Yes?”

            He took a deep breath, risking a glance at the lyrium vials. _She should know._  “As Inquisitor, you should know that I am no longer taking lyrium.”

            Zara’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’ve… stopped?”

            “It’s been months now,” he said.

            Cullen could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind; as a Circle mage (and an alchemist to boot) she would be familiar with the symptoms of lyrium consumption. “Cullen…” she said, the warning in her voice making him wince. “This can _kill_ you.”

            “It hasn’t yet,” he replied, head hung as he glimpsed the glowing blue vials.

            “ _Why_?”

            _Because the man I was—the Templar I was—was a monster. Because that was a life of madness and death I wanted to get away from. Because I need to prove I’ve changed, and lyrium is a chain to who I once was._ “After Kirkwall I couldn’t…” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough for the moment. “I will not be bound to the Order, or that life, any longer.” He stood tall and met her gaze evenly despite the pounding of his head. “Whatever the suffering, I accept it. I’ve asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, she will find a replacement.”

            _Replacement._ As though he were a cog in a machine that could be thrown out and replaced at the slightest hint of failure.

            Zara bit her lip as she considered the matter, much like she did at the war table. He found himself shifting uncomfortably, half expecting that she’d disagree and recommend he start taking the hateful drug once again so he wouldn’t be distracted from his duties to the Inquisition. Finally she sighed and said, “Very well. I respect your decision.”

            Cullen felt his shoulders slump ever so slightly in relief. “Th-thank you, Inquisitor.”

            “What are the symptoms, if you don’t mind my asking?” She shifted from foot to foot nervously.

            “Headaches, nausea, tremors, dizziness,” he listed, noting that she ticked off each with a slight twitch of her fingers. “Sometimes it’s so bad I have hallucinations or lose consciousness, but that’s rare. There are some days where I’ll be fine and others where I can barely bring myself to get out of bed.”

            “Have you talked to the healers about it?”

            “And have them tell me what?” Cullen demanded. “Few Templars have stopped taking lyrium and survived this long. They’d have nothing new to tell me.”

            Zara nodded slowly, but he knew her mind was working a million miles a minute for a solution. “I’ll see if I can come up with something. If Vivienne and I put our heads together we might be able to help you.”

            “Please, you have enough to worry about without fretting over me,” he muttered. “I’ve made it this long on my own. I’ll be fine.”

            She cast a glance to the door as the bell chimed the hour. “I have a meeting with Leliana in a bit, but I’ll see you at the war council.” She smiled, and it was brighter than any sun.

            “Yes,” he breathed. _Don’t go._ “Good afternoon, Zara.”

            Then she was gone, taking the light with her and leaving Cullen in a haze of nausea and dizziness. He leaned heavily against his desk, silently reciting the Canticle of Benedictions to distract himself as the worst of his withdrawals began to set in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple of notes on some canon/headcanon stuff:
> 
> 1\. It's never specified /where/ Templars are trained. The most I could find on the wiki is that "Templars go through a rigorous process of recruitment and training, sometimes in monastic refuges segregated from everyday society." So I headcanon Cullen was trained in a monastery away from Honnleath was wasn't moved to the Fereldan Circle until the last few years of his training to gain real-world experience guarding mages.
> 
> 2\. In the same vein, Alistair would have been trained in a monastery similar to Cullen. I personally headcanon they that accidentally ran into each other in the episode described by Cullen in this chapter. (Based on Alistair's story about screaming when things got too quiet when talking to Leliana about living under the Chantry's wing.)
> 
> 3\. Cullen's symptoms are based very heavily on real-life withdrawal symptoms (which I have experienced firsthand).
> 
> Kudos and comments are life <3


	9. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen’s heart skipped a beat and his head spun. Maker’s breath, she wants to spend time with me! he thought. How was it even possible that, somehow, she cared enough that she wanted to spend more time with him—alone, not just talking about reports or patrols or the war. “You said that,” he breathed in disbelief, eyes wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains lots of backstory, crying, and "he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment." I was tempted to split this up into two different chapters, but the pacing wouldn't work. So yay, you guys get a 7,000 word, 12-page monstrosity of feels and bad attempts at flirting.
> 
> I have an outline all written for the rest of the fic, and it'll be 37 chapters coming in at about 200k words. (Holy fuck) 
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of anxiety, PTSD, mild gore, and panic attacks.

**_Correspondence between the Inquisitor and her advisors:_ **

_Once the initial repairs to the main hall are completed, I would recommend a small fête to boost morale. –Josephine_

_We don’t have time for parties while we have a war to fight! –Cullen_

_Of course the Commander suggests no fun be had at all. -L_

_Satinalia is in a few weeks, and a small party wouldn’t be so bad after everything. But it would have to be after I’ve returned from the Fallow Mire.  –Zara_

_I’ll make the necessary arrangements immediately! -Josephine_

* * *

 

Zara was no stranger to working long hours. While living in the Circle she spent the better part of her evenings studying in the library for her classes, and after her Harrowing she would spend hours researching and was known to lock herself in her lab for days at a time to work on her experiments.

            But it had been a year since she’d last done so, and as a result the words of the report on the Fallow Mire she was reading began to blend together after only a five-hour grind. _I think I’ve read this sentence before,_ she thought, cursing the now-fading light, the candles burned down to stumps. She was tempted to ring for the maid to replace them, but she knew that the poor woman had long since retired for the night and probably wouldn’t take kindly to being disturbed.

            She sighed and set down the report, rubbing her eyes. As she looked at the papers scattered across her desk she caught a glimpse at the alchemical notes she’d been working on earlier that afternoon and smiled. It felt good to experiment again after being away from her craft for so long. Familiar algebraic equations were crammed together, balancing the amounts of chemicals and herbs, almost entirely based on her prior research and experimentation in the Circle. It would have been far easier if she had her notes with her, but sadly she’d left them at the Circle tower when it fell.

            _All I need is dawn lotus,_ she thought. And it was damn lucky that Harding’s scouting party reported resources in the Fallow Mire included the rare plant. She was hardly looking forward to filling out a requisition request form for Morris.

            Zara stretched her arms over her head and stood, deciding she needed sleep more than she needed to sort through paperwork cluttering her desk. She had six days before she left for the Fallow Mire and she wasn’t keen on traveling while exhausted beyond belief (reports and construction missives be damned). _I can’t let those soldiers down,_ she thought determinedly. _Not after Haven._ Who knew how long the Avaar would let them live once their scouting party was noticed, if they hadn’t been already.

            A week earlier Zara had been given her own quarters in the main tower. They were luxurious to be sure—more so than she cared for—but what she adored above the quiet solitude of privacy (which she hadn’t had at the Circle) was the _view_. The Frostbacks dominated the horizon for as far as she could see, the snow-capped peaks cast in purple shadow and golden sunlight of early winter during the day. On nights when the sky was clear she could stand on the balcony and observe the stars as they moved through the heavens to her heart’s content. But on nights like this, when clouds cast Skyhold in inky darkness and snow began to fall, she preferred to keep the doors shut and the fire roaring.

            She crossed the room quietly, bare footsteps muffled by the soft carpet. She undid the ties of her breeches and threw off her tunic and breast band, changing into a silk nightgown from the wardrobe Vivienne was constantly adding to on her behalf. (Maker bless her, but who needed _that many_ gowns?!) The bed was much larger than she was used to (the Circle hardly provided luxurious accommodations for mages, even senior enchanters) but it was warm and it was at least a place to sleep.

            Not that her sleep was peaceful once the nightmares set in.

* * *

             _There was a pool of blood in the center of the Harrowing chamber. Slowly, a figure rose out of the pool, blood slowly dripping off their shoulders and fingertips to reveal mage’s robes and dark ebony skin. Zara knew who it was long before the last of the blood fell away._

_Lydia opened her steely grey eyes and Zara felt a chill run down her spine. Where once she would have found kindness and compassion in the other woman’s eyes, she only found disdain._

You could have saved me, _Lydia said without opening her mouth._

_“I-I tried!” Zara cried, trying to ignore the deeply unsettling fact that Lydia was_ there _at all. “I wasn’t quick enough. I know Lyam would have been able to but… but I’m not him. I’m so, so sorry, Lydia.”_

You failed.

_She didn’t remember Lydia moving, but suddenly her mentor was standing right in front of her, hands holding hers. She shuddered—Lydia’s hands were as cold as ice. “I—”_

You failed.

_There came a burst of warmth and Zara looked down. A deep gash had opened in Lydia’s abdomen, scarlet blood soaking her robes. Lydia pressed Zara’s hands to the wound, pulling her close. She stank of iron and death._

You failed.

_Lydia slumped and Zara caught her, easing her to the floor. She felt tears stain her cheeks._ Oh, Maker, not again! _she thought. “Lydia!” she sobbed. “Lydia!”_

You failed.

_Lydia’s body dissolved into a pool of blood. Zara gasped, bolting to her feet in panic. She glanced around and saw the faces of the dead mages and Templars of the Ostwick Circle, the burnt corpses of those who died at the Conclave, the bloodied and fearful Inquisition soldiers from Haven. They surrounded her, eyes sunken and covered in film and expressions dead._

You failed, _they chanted._ You failed.

_They pressed closer to her on all sides and Zara screamed, covering her face with bloodstained hands. “Please, no! I-I’m sorry I couldn’t help! Please—!”_

* * *

            Zara screamed, eyes snapping open and hands clutching wildly at sheets. Her heart was racing and her chest felt tight and she couldn’t catch her breath—

            Her room slowly came into focus, though it was slightly blurry from the tears slowly making their way down her face. The candles had completely burned down; the only light in the room came from the embers in the fireplace.

            _Just dream,_ she thought in an attempt to ease her panic. Sadly, it didn’t help. Somehow it made everything worse and it only made her heart beat faster. Where was Karimah or Gareth when she needed them?

            _If it happens again, don’t be afraid to find me._

            Zara threw the sheets off her body and ran toward the staircase, stopping only to snatch her robe off the sofa along the railing, where she’d left it the previous morning.

            She stumbled down several flights of stairs, nearly falling several times while she pulled her robe on, only to catch herself on the railing. She burst through the door leading to the main hall, empty of the repair crews due to the ungodly hour. (It had to be at least an hour before dawn.)

            Zara sprinted through the empty hall, barely able to contain her sobs as she tied her robe. She slammed open the door leading to the rotunda and the one leading to the recently repaired walkway, the stone horribly cold under her bare feet but she paid it no mind, simply trying to prevent herself from collapsing from the agony of her own thoughts before she reached Cullen’s newly-claimed office.

            When she came to the door to Cullen’s tower she slammed her fist against the wood. She wanted to call his name but she couldn’t form the _words_. Maker only knew if he was even _awake_ at that hour, but he was the only thing standing between her and her own mindless panic.

            The door opened a few moments later, Cullen’s confused expression instantly becoming concern when he laid eyes on her. (Surely she looked a mess with her hair tangled and sticking up at every angle and her robe hanging off one shoulder and her red, puffy eyes.) “Zara—!”

            Without a second thought she threw herself into his arms and sobbed into his chest. “It was a nightmare and I… I saw _her_ and everyone…” Her frantic babbling quickly dissolved into incoherent sobs.

            “Maker’s breath, you’re freezing,” he murmured. “Come on. You’ll catch your death standing out here.” He ushered her inside the tower, keeping one arm around her shoulders.

            Inside the tower wasn’t arm per se, but it was a welcome comfort compared to her cavernous quarters and the biting wind of the Frostbacks. He led her to the sofa (cleared of debris that morning after she’d pointed it out while asking about the Fallow Mire report) and knelt in front of her.

            Cullen took Zara’s hands in his and smoothed calloused thumbs along the skin of her palms. She felt her hear throb in secret joy at that small act of comfort. In the back of her mind she noticed that he, for the first time since she met him, wasn’t wearing armor. Yet through her panic it was a distant thought she barely acknowledged.

            After several minutes of gasping sobs and Cullen’s gentle murmurs of comforting words (“Deep breaths, Zara” followed by a desperate nod and “Do you want me to do anything?” followed by a shake of her head), she had calmed down enough to speak.

            “Thank you,” she managed through a sob.

            “Of course,” he whispered. As she pulled a hand away to wipe at her tears he continued, “Do you want to talk about it?”

            She sighed and took his hand again with a slight nod. She had spent a year running from this, from what had happened that day. As much as she wanted to forget and move on, it was time she confronted this demon that had tortured her for so long—a demon she’d never even discussed with her two closest friends in the world.

            _You failed._

            “When I lived in the Circle,” she began softly, her words falling from her lips faster than she intended, “my mentor was a senior enchanter named Lydia.

            “From the moment I arrived she doted on me, helped me with my lessons, was my rock when I needed support. She took me under her wing as her apprentice, and was training me to be a healer. When I found I was a better alchemist than a healer, she supported my decision. She stood up for me when the other senior enchanters refused to let me complete my Harrowing at fifteen—something completely unheard of until then. She counseled me when I became an enchanter, and was my confidant when I was named a senior enchanter.

            “When news of the rebellion reached Ostwick, we held a vote to determine our course of action—rebellion, neutrality, or loyalty to the Chantry. Neutrality won out. Our Templars respected the vote and we carried on as if the rebellion wasn’t happening… But some couldn’t take inaction, feeling anything short of siding with the rebellion to be in support of the Chantry’s abuses. We got wind that several Circles had been destroyed when rogue Templars came in claiming the Rite of Annulment. There were many who feared we’d suffer the same fate.”

            She paused, taking in Cullen’s face—the lines of concern and worry that made him look much older than he was—and how his eyes met hers without fear. “They were right.”

            She took a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tightness in her chest. “A month later a group of rogue Templars arrived to cleanse the Circle.  Fighting broke out. Most of our Templars sided with us, though those who’d chafed under what they considered ‘leniency’ took up arms against us. I was teaching a class at the time, but I hid the apprentices in the Templars’ quarters with one of the kind Templars—Ser Collin—to guard them if the fighting reached them.

“We made our stand in the Harrowing chamber after we lost the first four floors, holding them off for as long as we could, until any kind of reinforcements could arrive—city guard or the teyrn himself. Before anyone could reach us, however, the most extreme of the mages in favor of rebellion… turned on us. It became a free-for-all…” She felt her heart rate rise once more at the memory of the fear. “So many fell to them… And not just Templars, but many mages too.

“Many of the senior mages, a few apprentices, several recently-Harrowed mages, and myself… We fought them tooth and nail. We managed to kill many of the rogue Templars and mages, and they retreated.

“As… as they ran Lydia…” She began to cry once more, incapable of holding back her tears as, for the first time in a year, she allowed her grief to become known. “One of the apprentices, a student of Lydia’s… she… she _killed_ Lydia… And then they fled.

“I-I _tried_ to save her…” Her breath quickened in the beginnings of a panic attack. “But there was so much _blood_ … And then she died, right there in my arms.”

Suddenly the memories came rushing back in vivid color, and she was powerless to stop them as her anxiety claimed her.

* * *

_“Lydia?” Zara gasped through her tears, clutching the elder woman’s rapidly-cooling body. “Lydia?!”_

_Lydia didn’t respond, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling without seeing a thing._

Because she’s dead, _Zara thought._

_She was enveloped in quiet despite the noises of the living taking stock of their wounds, sorting through the bodies of her fellow mages and the good Templars surrounding her in search of friends. Their blood was sprayed across the walls and floor like a grotesque painting. There were several burn marks on the stone where mage’s fire or lightning had struck and shards of ice littered the floor._

Oh Maker, _she thought, feeling tears well up in her eyes._ I’m so, so sorry, Lydia. I was never much of a healer.

_Zara became aware of metal-clad footsteps approaching and looked up._

_Ser Katherine stared down at her with sadness written on her beautifully freckled face and tears in her impossibly blue eyes. Her silverite armor, emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy, was splattered with blood and her sword, hanging limply by her side, dripped with it. Her normally proud-set shoulders were slumped in exhaustion—or perhaps grief._

_“The apprentices in the Templars’ quarters are safe,” she said quietly. “You did well to send them there.”_

_Zara nodded mutely, her voice stuck and she was unwilling to fight it._

_Katherine took in the scene before her: Zara, covered in blood that wasn’t entirely her own, holding the body of her mentor, tears in her eyes that stubbornly refused to fall. “Do you know who…?” she began, gesturing to Lydia._

You can’t even speak a full fucking _sentence_ to me anymore, _Zara thought bitterly, but she shoved it away. “One of the mages,” she managed with a shrug, voice hoarse. “I don’t know who.”_

_“Zara…” the Templar murmured in that tone she recognized as the same sad adoration she’d used that day two years previous when she’d broken her heart, when every dream she’d wanted died. “I’m sorry.”_

_“I am too,” the mage replied harshly._

_A hand—not Katherine’s metal-clad one—touched her shoulder, and she looked up. Gareth’s deep brown eyes stared down at her, but she couldn’t identify the emotions she found there. “We need to get out of Ostwick,” he said. “First Enchanter’s orders.”_

_Zara looked between the elf and Lydia’s dead body. A million things ran through her mind then, but she shut them out, effectively ridding her face of any emotion. “Alright,” she murmured._

_She stood, wishing with all her being that things were different. She looked up and met Katherine’s gaze. “Go,” the knight said. “I’ll make sure the Knight-Commander doesn’t chase after you.”_

_Zara nodded, not trusting her voice then, and slipped Lydia lyrium-laced ring given to her the day of her Harrowing onto her own finger. She followed Gareth past Katherine and out of the Harrowing chamber._

_She followed him through the halls she had walked in (slightly) happier times, once packed with apprentices and enchanters and filled with the noise of academic debate and friendly conversation. Now it played host to the dead; silence reigned over the stairwells and corridors, blood pooling under the countless bodies._

_Those mages who survived congregated in the entrance hall (nearly seventy by her best estimate), white marble floors stained with the scarlet blood of those who had died in the initial attack. Many faces she recognized among the living, and more still among the dead. No one spoke; whether it was out of respect for the dead or the shock at extent of the massacre, she didn’t care to know._

_She simply walked past them, though the grand oak doors and into the golden evening light._

_On the steps of the entrance to the tower, Zara turned her palms up to look at how Lydia’s blood had soaked them. It gleamed wickedly, the magic in it calling out to her in an ethereal song… Or maybe it was just her imagination._

_She walked down the steps, swallowing down her panic and pulling Lydia’s ring from her finger as she did so. She turned to her right and threw the ring in the direction of the greenhouses, her mind distantly replaying the day she met Lydia—her kind smile, reassuring words, and calming presence. She threw her own lyrium-and-silver ring after._

* * *

Zara was instantly pulled back to the present by the feeling of Cullen’s hand squeezing her own.

“Hey,” he whispered soothingly. “Come back to me.”

She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but she realized she was hyperventilating and the words were stuck in her throat from broken sobs.

He gently eased her through it, whispering comforting nonsense she hardly remembered. Slowly, she began to calm down enough to speak.

“Sorry…” she mumbled.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he reassured her, pressing his palm to her cheek and wiping a tear away with his thumb.

Several minutes passed, her tears finally letting up and her heart no longer racing quite so terribly. His hand still cupped her cheek. “Thank you, Cullen,” she murmured, a watery smile twitching her lips.

“Anytime, Zara,” he replied.

She met his warm gaze for several moments, and, as though he suddenly realized what was happening, dropped his hand with a muttered apology.

She wiped her eyes and cast a quick glance around his office. All the candles were on their last legs, and reports and books on military strategy were strewn across his desk—he’d been in the same boat as her after all.

Cullen made no effort to stop her when she let go of his hand. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, eyes not quite meeting hers. “Do… do you want me to escort you back to your quarters?”

Zara righted her robe. Did her state of undress make him uncomfortable? Or was this that she came to him in the dead of night to dump her emotional baggage on him without a thought for his clear exhaustion? “I…” she stammered. “Actually, if it’s all the same to you I… I was wondering if I might… _stay_ for a while?”

He blinked in surprise, cheeks reddening and mouth opening and shut without any sound. _Did I go too far? Shit, he probably needs sleep and he has enough problems without me adding to them. I’ll just go and maybe we can forget all about this—_

“Of course,” he said with that wonderfully lopsided smile she found herself enjoying far too much.

Zara curled up at one end of the sofa and Cullen on the other. After a few minutes of awkward small talk, they occupied themselves with a rather heated debate over Varric’s use (or _im_ proper use, in Zara’s opinion) of metaphor in the most recent edition of _Hard in Hightown_. Cullen kept insisting it was in Varric’s style to overuse elaborate metaphors, while Zara explained it was sometimes difficult to sift through the sheer number of times Varric compared a character’s eyes to “the strange sort of sickening yellowish-green the Kirkwall skies turned before a thunder storm” or a sleazy merchant’s “personality so odorous even stray dogs avoided the establishment.” It was a nonsense sort of argument, but it kept Zara’s mind off of her nightmare and grief.

As dawn’s first light crept over the mountain peaks a half-hour later, Zara bade him farewell and made her way back to the keep proper. (Only after turning down his offer to escort her back to her quarters.) It was still terribly cold, but Zara didn’t mind it then. She smiled to herself as she walked, clutching tightly to the memory of Cullen’s full laugh and the way his amber eyes glimmered at her words.

When she entered the rotunda, a quiet whistle alerted her to someone on the second floor.

“Well hello, my dear!” Dorian said, leaning over the railing to look at her.

She stopped and raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing up before breakfast?”

The Tevinter mage shrugged. “I was doing a bit of research on Corypheus’ orb last night and got caught up.” He paused, a smirk crossing his mustachioed lips. “And what were you doing, running off to the Commander in the dead of night like a demon was on your tail? You certainly didn’t hurry back.”

She scowled. _Damn him and his observations._ She held up a finger and dashed up the stairs to the second floor. She was met with an absolute mess on the closest table: papers were scattered across the wooden surface as well as the floor, books stacked several tomes high, multiple broken quills, and no less than five separate (and empty) inkwells.

Dorian was sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the table. He gave a grand gesture indicating for her to sit across him. She did so and he laced his fingers over his stomach. “ _So_ …” he drawled with a grin. “Give me all the juicy details, darling.”

Zara crossed her legs and leaned back. “There’s nothing _to_ tell,” she said. “I had a nightmare and subsequent panic attack, so I went to him. I vented for a bit and then we talked about _Hard in Hightown_ to get my mind off it. That’s all there is to it.”

He nodded slowly. “Interesting…”

“What?” she asked, eyes narrowed in caution.

“That when in the throes of a nightmare and mind-numbing panic,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “our tougher-than-nails Inquisitor—who has survived a massive explosion, a trip to the future, an Archdemon, and a darkspawn magister—runs to her Commander in the dead of night in nothing but her unmentionables and a rather flimsy robe, not knowing if he’s even _awake_ , in the hopes that he’ll assuage her fears.” He grinned. “Sounds like the beginnings of one of Varric’s more _salacious_ books, my dear.”

Zara at least had the decency to blush—both in embarrassment and anger. “He wanted to _help_ me,” she insisted with a deep frown. “The only two people in the world who could’ve possibly helped are somewhere in the Free Marches, far out of reach. He…” She paused, mind turning it over and over like a stone rolling down a mountain. “He understands.”

Dorian smiled, eyes shining with sympathy. “He cares for you,” he said. “There is no shame in that, my dear.”

“Of course he cares,” she replied. “He’s my friend the same as you and the others.”

He shook his head. “No… This is… different. He doesn’t care just as a friend, but someone who…” He shrugged. “Ah, but that’s not for me to say.”

Zara stared at him for several moments. “As if he’d care for me like _that_ ,” she muttered, running a hand through her already-tousled curls. “I’m… not relationship material.”

“Of course you are!” Dorian insisted. “You’re the fucking _Inquisitor_!”

“Yeah, well that’s the problem,” she said. “I’m the _Inquisitor_ and he’s my _military advisor_. He’d never look at me that way.”

Dorian shook his head. “Tsk tsk. Don’t be so quick to dismiss the possibility. You never know what’s going to happen— _you_ of all people should know that.”

She thought for several moments. “Hmmm…” She looked up after a while and stood. “I’ll see you later.”

“Meet me for lunch?” he asked with a sly grin and a quirk of his eyebrow.

She gave a wide grin. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

 Cullen stared intently at the chessboard before him, fingers steepled as he rested his elbows on his knees. It was completely obvious that Dorian was cheating _again_ , but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a challenge to counter his maneuvers.

“So…” Dorian said with his usual drawl. “You and the Inquisitor, hmm?”

Cullen desperately tried not to blush at what he knew the mage was insinuating. “Surely I have no idea what you mean.” Oh, but he did. And he so desperately craved what Dorian _thought_ was happening between him and Zara.

“You know _exactly_ what I mean,” Dorian said as Cullen made him move. “She ran to you after a nightmare four days ago and spent the better part of an hour in your office.” He paused, considering the board. “It’s completely obvious that you’re infatuated with her.”

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. _Maker is it_ that _obvious?_ “I…” he began, and huffed in irritation when he couldn’t find the damn _words_. “I am.” And had been for a long time.

Dorian smiled and took his turn. “When are you going to tell her?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he muttered darkly, quickly countering his move. “She’s busy enough as it is. I doubt she has time and… I don’t think she’d want to be with _me_.” Not with his past, his fractured self, his lyrium withdrawals. Surely there was someone _better_ for Zara—Warden Blackwall with his stainless honor, some lord or another who could give her the life she deserved. Anyone but _him_ , no matter how much it hurt him in the end.

Dorian shook a finger at him. “Now, now, Commander,” he chided and took one of Cullen’s knights. “Don’t discount yourself so quickly. I’m certain with a little time she’ll come around. I mean, look at you!” He gestured grandly at him. “I’d say you’re the second-best looking person in the Inquisition!”

“Who’s the first?” Cullen asked with a grin, beginning his advance to take Dorian’s king.

“Myself, of course,” Dorian said easily.

Cullen laughed; it was the same easy laugh he’d found himself using during his time with Zara, the one that sounded rusty with disuse to his own ears after years of bitterness and anger.

“Have you decided what to get her for Satinalia?” Dorian asked.

Cullen felt his blood run cold. _Shit..._ “I…”

Dorian sighed sadly. “You haven’t, have you?”

“I’ve been a bit too busy for that kind of thing,” Cullen muttered. _Shit, shit shit._ What would Zara even _want_? Perhaps a book of alchemical recipes? Or something on botany for the field? _No, she probably has several of those already._

They fell silent after that, both focused on a strategy to effectively take the board. (Dorian with his cheating, Cullen with well-thought out planning.)

Though there were many nobles in the garden (many had begun flocking to Skyhold to see the Inquisition with their own eyes), one particular movement caught his eye after a time. Zara and Leliana were walking through the garden, speaking in hushed tones. From that distance he couldn’t read their lips.

Maker, Zara looked lovely in the afternoon light. The way the sunlight glinted off her dark skin and darker hair made her seem holy, _ethereal_. Even though she wore a simple tunic and trousers, she was a queen to him. _Maker,_ he thought. His breath caught in his throat and his heart sped up almost painfully when her lips parted as she laughed at something the spymaster had said.

_Her body was soft against his as he pulled her close and brushed his lips over hers. Everything about her was soft edges and warm, dark skin. Her eyes—pools of jade that sparkled with more warmth than the summer sun—fluttered shut, long lashes brushing her cheeks. He kissed her more urgently then, trying to convey just how much he_ felt _for her._

_“Cullen,” she murmured as he pulled away, lips chasing after his and accent lilting over the syllables gently._

“Daydreaming of a certain Marcher mage, my friend?” Dorian quipped, pulling him from his reverie. “Well, I’ll take a winning strategy where I can find it.”

Cullen scowled, returning his attention to the chessboard. “As though you had a chance to begin with.” He took his turn. “And you can gloat all you like. This game is mine.”

Dorian gave a gasp of mock surprise. “Are you… _sassing_ me, Commander?” he taunted. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Why to I even—Inquisitor!” Cullen made to stand, heart racing that Zara was suddenly so _close_ , eyes warm as she observed the scene before her. Maker’s breath, he hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Leaving, are you?” Dorian asked. “Does this mean I win?”

All Cullen could do was scowl at the other man.

“Are you two playing nice?” Zara teased with a grin.

Dorian grinned at Cullen, who was desperately trying to ignore the suggestive look in the Tevinter’s eyes and his own uncontrollable blushing. “I’m _always_ nice.” He paused as he moved a knight. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

Cullen cocked an eyebrow. _Son of a bitch_ , he thought. Whether Dorian had done it intentionally or not, he’d missed a chance to put him in check and gave Cullen the perfect opening to finish the game. “Really?” Cullen questioned with a grin. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.” He leaned back in his chair and watched Dorian raise an eyebrow suggestively.

“Don’t get smug,” he sighed as he stood, giving a sly wink. “There’ll be no living with you.” He gave a slight bow to Zara and walked away, leaving the two alone.

After Dorian had disappeared from sight, Cullen returned his gaze to Zara. “I should return to my duties as well,” he said before an idea hit him. “Unless… you would care for a game?”

There was half a second when Cullen thought she wouldn’t take him up on it, that she’d make a polite excuse about paperwork and leave. But his stomach fluttered and his chest felt tight when Zara flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. “Prepare the board, Commander.”

She sat across from him, setting a leather-bound journal on the table and helping him arrange the pieces.

“As a child I would play this with my sister,” he found himself saying, babbling to fill the silence. _Maker, I’m a wreck around her._ “She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won—which was _all_ _the time_. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. Ah, the look on her face the day I finally won.” He paused. “Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t see them in years. I wonder if she still plays…”

“You have siblings?” she asked, eyes meeting his.

“Two sisters and a brother,” he replied simply, leaning forward to observe the board as she made her first move.

She met his gaze evenly when he looked at her. “Where are the now?”

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight,” he explained, moving a pawn. “I do not write to them as often as I should.” He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment of his admission.

Zara chuckled. “You should keep in practice for when you see them again. I’m sure the Inquisition can’t keep you busy forever.”

He found himself laughing along with her. “No, surely not.” He paused. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

She cocked an eyebrow in amusement. “I’m the youngest of seven.”

“’ _Seven_?!’” he repeated in shock.

She nodded. “Yes. My eldest brother, Charles, is their heir apparent of House Trevelyan. He married the youngest daughter of Ansburg’s Margrave six years ago and they have three sons.” She ticked off each sibling on her fingers. “Edmond joined the Chantry shortly after I was taken to the Circle, Jean married a noblewoman from Starkhaven and has a daughter, Marie-Claire got married two years ago and is living in Val Chevin.

“The twins, Christophe and Eleanor, help my father run the stables. My mother has tried to get Eleanor to marry several times, but she’s as stubborn as Grandmama. My cousin Evelyn has lived with my parents since she was very young, but she travels quite a bit through the Free Marches now that she’s of age. They all write to me now and again, but it’s become difficult to find time to reply with my duties taking up so much time.”

“And I thought it was hectic with three siblings,” Cullen muttered wryly.

Zara laughed that full, rich laugh he adored so much. He felt his blush deepen and he looked down at the board to avoid her seeing it.

“My parents were good at keeping us in line,” she said. “My grandmother too, I suppose.” She grinned. “She always told the _best_ stories.”

“What’s your grandmother like?” he asked. He couldn’t ignore how his heart beat painfully hard at the smile on her face and the happiness in her eyes.

“Stubborn,” she said wistfully. She cast a quick glance at him. “Must be a Fereldan thing.”

“Your grandmother’s Fereldan?!”

She nodded, smile wide. “Yes. Lady Zara Vandersath-Trevelyan of Denerim, wife of the late Bann Hadwin Trevelyan, is well past her eightieth year and in good health. She loves gossip as much as any Orlesian and can outdrink even the heartiest mercenary—or so she claims, I’ve never seen her do it.”

Cullen surprised himself with how much he laughed at that. _Now_ that _explains Cassandra’s reports,_ he thought, remembering the irritation Cassandra had expressed early in her travels with Zara.

“You mentioned you were from Honnleath,” Zara said suddenly, running a hand through her hair almost nervously. “What was it like?”

“Quiet,” he said. “It was a farming village, so it didn’t see as many travelers as a seaport.”

“Point taken,” she said, laughing.

Both fell silent as the game continued. Cullen’s heart beat painfully fast as the breeze ruffled her hair, the scent of lavender, sandalwood, and elfroot reaching him. He found himself blushing at that. Distantly, he remembered that night in Haven he’d walked her to her cabin and how much he had wanted to kiss her. Almost as much as he wanted to lean over the table and kiss her right then and there, with all of Skyhold able to see them—

             “Cullen?”

He blinked, heart sinking as his fantasy vanished and he met Zara’s concerned gaze. “Uh… yes?”

“Are you alright?” she asked, brow creased in worry. “Is it the withdrawals?”

“No, it’s… Maker’s breath, it’s not that!” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck nervously, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming about the woman _sitting right across from him_. “I was just… just considering my next move.” _In a manner of speaking,_ he thought.

Zara nodded slowly, obviously not entirely convinced. “How’re you feeling today, since we’re on the subject?”

“I’m fine,” he replied. He didn’t feel it worth mentioning he’d woken up in a cold sweat that morning, convinced he was still trapped with that cursed desire demon—who had taken up a new shape as of late, one with dark olive skin, raven hair, and a different set of pale green eyes than before.

“That’s good,” Zara said with a smile.

“What about you?” He took one of her towers. “How’re you feeling after… everything?”

She paused, biting at her bottom lip. “I… I’m feeling much better, actually. I never really… _talked_ about what happened that day. Karimah and Gareth were always trying to get me to face it, but… I just couldn’t. We were in the wilderness trying to _survive_ ; I didn’t have time to properly mourn her while focused on hiding from Templars. Now that I’ve got it out in the open, I think it’s time I moved on.” She paused. “That’s what Lydia would want.”

Cullen thought for a moment. _Thank you for sharing it with me,_ he didn’t say. _Even though I’ve done nothing to properly earn your trust._ Maker, he hadn’t even told her about _his_ past. What was to stop her from walking away forever when he confessed his demons?

“If you ever need to talk, about Lydia or whatever you need to, my door is always open,” he blurted.

Zara gave him a warm smile. Maker, she was doing that so often now… “Thank you, Cullen.”

There were a few moments of silence and he glanced at the journal on the table. “Is that yours?” he asked, and suddenly he wanted to take back the words.

“It is,” she replied. “It’s my old journal from when I was younger. Leliana had one of her agents retrieve it from the Circle tower when I mentioned I left my old alchemy notes in it.”

“Are you hoping to work on your old experiments?” he pressed.

She nodded. “To a degree. I’ve been working on something special but it’s been difficult without my old notes to help me along. Some of the equations I’ve needed had errors I needed to correct by cross-referencing my previous work.”

“And what’ve you been working on?”

She smiled coyly. “I prefer to keep my work a secret until it’s finished.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

More time passed without them speaking. Cullen found himself marveling at how calming her mere presence was for him—she was like the eye of a storm then, the quiet in the middle of so much chaos. They each took careful, calculated turns moving about the chessboard and he wondered if she’d played it with _her_ siblings as a child.

“Cullen, I… I was wondering something,” Zara blurted suddenly, her cheeks several shades darker from blushing.

“Yes?” His heart sped up. Was she going to ask him about his past? He certainly wouldn’t put it past her to ask after she’d already confessed so much to him…

“Did you… did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?” she asked.

He had her queen cornered, but he considered taking one of her lions instead since it was in a position to put him in check. “I made few friends while I lived there,” he said sadly. _Maybe if I flank from the right…_

“No one… _special_ worth noting?” she pressed.

 Cullen’s hand stopped before he could make his move. _Maker’s breath!_ he thought, wishing that he could suddenly disappear like that spirt boy Cole. But then maybe this was the chance he’d been waiting for—an opportunity to tell her how much he enjoyed her company. “Not in Kirkwall,” he replied slowly. _Because the only one special enough worth noting is sitting right across from me._

Zara nodded, and he couldn’t help but notice how she ran a hand over her mouth to hide a smile.

“You’ve mentioned your friends from the Circle,” he found himself saying before he could second-guess himself. “Did _you_ leave anyone behind when you fled?”

For the briefest of moments, she frowned and a terrible sort of sadness flashed across her face. But just as soon as it was there it was gone again. “Those sort of… _relationships_ were generally forbidden in the Circle,” she explained. “The Chantry never exactly encouraged mages to engage in romantic activities. So, no I didn’t.”

He dropped the subject immediately, but his heart gave a painful squeeze. He should’ve realized sooner, having lived in the Circle as well. Maker, why didn’t he ever think things _through_ when he spoke with her?!

After several minutes of further silence, Zara said, “You should write to your siblings, you know. I’m sure they’d love to hear from you after Haven.”

“That…” He chuckled as he thought about it. “That is a good idea, actually.”

“I’ve been known to have those from time to time,” she joked with a wink.

Cullen glanced at the garden and realized with a start that it was nearly evening and the sun had begun to sink past the high walls of the keep. It must’ve been two hours since they’d started their game, since they both kept getting distracted with conversation.

“You know, this is probably the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition or related matters.” He mentally sighed. It had sounded less idiotic in his head.

“We should spend more time together,” Zara said, and he noted how her blush deepened at that.

“I-I’d like that,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Me too.” Her smile was so utterly, devastatingly _beautiful_ then.

Cullen’s heart skipped a beat and his head spun. _Maker’s breath, she wants to spend time with_ me _!_ he thought. How was it even possible that, somehow, she cared enough that she wanted to spend more time with him—alone, not just talking about reports or patrols or the war. “You said that,” he breathed in disbelief, eyes wide. Maker, when had he last felt _this good_? Despite the early winter chill in the air he felt warm and lighter than he had in a long, long time.

She smiled again at his words (Oh, Maker, she’d _heard_ him!?), and he adored the way it touched her eyes.

“We… we should finish our game,” he mumbled. If her strategy was to distract him, it was working.

Zara nodded mutely, but her smile never wavered.

Within two minutes Cullen captured her king, but he couldn’t have cared less about the win. “It seems the game is mine,” he said confidently.

She shrugged with a sly look in her eyes. “It appears that luck has favored you today.”

“So it has,” he chuckled.

Zara stood and picked up the journal. “I-I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?” she stammered, hiding her face behind a curtain of dark hair as she turned to leave.

“Of course,” he replied. _Don’t leave._

As she walked away Cullen turned his gaze to the seat she’d occupied not five seconds earlier, wishing desperately that he could spend every moment of spare time he had in her presence.

“And Cullen?”

He turned and saw her standing ten feet away, a mischievous grin quirking her lips. “Yes?”

“Rematch when I get back from the Fallow Mire?”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Zara turned and walked away then, leaving him with his thoughts that had turned to Dorian’s earlier question: _What would Zara want for Satinalia?_

Maybe he could requisition some rare herbs for her alchemy experiments (she had been working tirelessly over the last several days in the undercroft at a makeshift alchemy lab she’d thrown together). Or perhaps he could call in a favor from an old friend from Templar training he knew was stationed at the Ostwick Circle at the start of the war to send any specialty equipment from her old lab that would be difficult to get otherwise. Or maybe…

He paused, smiling down at the chessboard. One of the Templars who’d survived Kinloch Hold had been stationed at the White Spire after the Blight and owed him a few favors after Cullen had covered his shifts more than once while they served there.

He knew _exactly_ what he’d get Zara for Satinalia.

* * *

  _Everything around Zara was so wonderfully_ golden _and serene. The trees of Skyhold’s garden whispered in a gentle breeze, the only sound to be heard other than their heartbeats and soft breaths._

_Cullen held her close, lips caressing her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead before gently pressing against her own in a whisper-soft kiss that left her breathless. “Zara,” he breathed reverently, large, warm hands spanning her waist._

_She sighed at how_ wonderful _her name sounded on his lips when he said it like that. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him. She marveled at the raw strength of his body, yet how softly he touched her, as though afraid he might break her on accident._

_She held his face in both hands, adoringly caressing the stubble-covered skin of his jaw. She ran her thumb along the scar on his lip. She pressed her lips to his in a searing,_ loving _kiss that seemed to steal the breath from him._

_“Zara,” he gasped, pulling her closer still. “Zara…”_

* * *

Zara’s eyes fluttered open and she squinted in the pre-dawn gloom that enveloped her tent. Rain pattered on the water-resistant cloth ceiling but she felt sticky with sweat from the stinking humidity of the Fallow Mire.

She groaned and pressed her face into her bedroll, wishing with all her being that she could relive that dream again.

_Damn it,_ she thought bitterly even though she knew Cole would be able to hear her from outside, where he was on watch with two other soldiers. She sat up, relighting the candle she’d used earlier to go over reports from Skyhold, and pulled an envelope from her pack. She reopened it and looked over the words she’d already committed to memory the previous day.

  _Zara, I hope that this letter finds you well and that you are keeping yourself as safe as you can out in the field._

_Things have been hectic here at Skyhold now that Josephine has her plans for Satinalia underway—the poor servants have been running themselves ragged to make sure things are being prepared to the letter. Vivienne has even taken it upon herself to assist, and both have tried to write you in order to settle their differences in opinion on every aspect of the planning—though I told them you have more important things to worry about._

_I know it seems foolish to say so, but I worry for your safety and that’s why I decided to write you personally, instead of waiting for your reports. I hope that you can forgive me for worrying so when there’s more important things that need my attention._

_Respectfully, Cullen_

            She tried desperately not to blush at the thought of Cullen thinking of _her_ instead of working through the sizable stack of reports that was always piled on his deck, but she failed.

            She’d received the letter two days earlier, and had written him back almost immediately, but then… She’d started having dreams about him. Intense and golden dreams that left her heart aching and body warm and tingling all over.

            Zara had tried to avoid thinking about it, but now that she was having these dreams she needed to admit it to herself: she was infatuated with Commander Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes:
> 
> 1.The only person who wants these two nerds to kiss more than I do is Dorian and I love it. I'm personally a fan of how much he and Cullen are BFFs in the canon and I really wanted to play off of that. 
> 
> 2.Zara's eldest brother's name, Charles, is the French pronunciation. (All of her siblings have French names, including Zara. I actually did that on accident early in development.) 
> 
> 3\. Zara's friends, Karimah and Gareth, will feature heavily in later chapters. I've had a lot of fun drafting scenes with them and I hope that you'll love them as much as I do!
> 
> 4\. The rings that Zara thew away during the flashback are part of the canon. The DA wiki page for the Harrowing mentions that "upon successful completion of his or her Harrowing, a mage is traditionally given a ring of lyrium-infused silver."
> 
> 5\. I also added a little tie-in to the oneshot "Zara." The final scene where Leliana gives Zara the journal occurs just before the chess game.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


	10. Satinalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First judgements, the arrival of the Champion, and a brief respite for celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn you guys that this chapter is a long one. I was going to split it up into two parts but after rereading it I realized that wouldn't work for pacing reasons.
> 
> There have been edits to some earlier chapters in this fic. I've added some things for contingency reasons. They're nothing major like new scenes, just a few lines and even paragraphs. Feel free to go back and reread if you feel like it. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has put up with my prolonged absence, due in large part to mental health reasons. But I've been putting my nose to the grindstone and I've got the next two chapters already written and currently being edited. Hopefully things go alright, and, if so, expect Chapter 11 next week and Chapter 12 the week after that.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.seniorenchantertrevelyan.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Zara's Satinalia gown](http://laceandtea.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/paolo3.jpg)  
>    
> [Zara's judgement gown](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/a0/75/54/a07554731506a01efb6e317db647bddd.jpg)

            **_A letter from Zara to Cullen:_**

_Cullen, words can’t express how glad I was to hear from you. Due to the extreme humidity, almost-constant rain, and undead hordes it’s been a chore navigating the Mire to find the patrol. However, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve not only rescued the missing soldiers but also recruited a well-respected Avaar tribesman called Skywatcher into the Inquisition._

_I must thank you for ensuring Josephine and Vivienne didn’t write me regarding the party—you were correct in assuming finding the patrol and securing the region were of a greater importance than the color scheme or furnishings or whatever nonsense they intended to bother me with. No doubt it was a valiant effort on your part, confronting them in the midst of their takeover of Skyhold._

_I hope that your withdrawals haven’t been so terrible since last we spoke. If you ever need to talk about it or find yourself in need of anything, I’ll always make time to help. Perhaps with time we both can find peace with our demons._

_We are returning to Skyhold in all haste, and by the time you receive this letter know that I am only two or three days away._

_Sincerely, Zara T._

           

Zara returned to Skyhold three weeks after her chess game with Cullen. She was covered in mud, stinking of horse, but her mood was lighter than it had been in a long while.

            After battling through undead, several angry demons, an insane apostate named Widris, and the Avaar who’d challenged her in the first place, she and her party had successfully rescued the missing Inquisition soldiers. It was a well-earned victory after the many setbacks of the last month and a half. Zara held that pride close to her heart along their return journey, knowing it would make the Satinalia celebration even sweeter.

            The Inquisitor and her party clattered into the courtyard, slowing their horses to a halt to dismount. Zara dismounted her mare quickly and shouldered her saddlebags as a stablehand took the reins from her. The early morning light provided little warmth and snow had begun to fall long before they’d reached the main gate in the beginnings of a storm they’d seen brewing on the horizon, and as a result her cheeks were flushed and snow clung to her hair and eyelashes.

            “In a hurry there, boss?” Bull joked, eye twinkling suggestively.

            It shouldn’t have surprised her that Bull had picked up on her eagerness to return to Skyhold after Cullen’s letter—not that she’d even _told_ him who the letter was from. Yet she still found herself blushing at his tone.

            “A bit,” she replied, shifting from foot to foot.

            “Warm, welcoming, _wanting_ ,” Cole murmured from somewhere to her left as he smoothed a hand along the snout of his bog unicorn. “Maker, he’s so golden and perfect, why can’t I spend every moment with him? Eyes so wonderfully _intense_ as they meet mine over the chessboard and he asks me if I’m alright like he actually _cares_.” He paused, smiling beneath the wide brim of his hat. “Dorian’s right, you know.”

            Zara felt her blush deepen when Bull and Solas laughed knowingly.

            “I’ll see you later,” she blurted, nearly sprinting up the steps toward the upper courtyard and away from the embarrassment of everyone knowing about her feelings when she was still so uncertain of it all.

            She was instantly met with the noises of recruit training. The reports Cullen had sent in addition to his letter had mentioned a massive increase in those volunteering to fight for the Inquisition, and what she saw only confirmed that. Several groups of armored men and women were working on sword drills under the watchful gaze of a few officers, Warden Blackwall, and Cullen himself.

            She stopped dead, mouth hanging open in awe and heart squeezing painfully. He looked utterly, devastatingly _gorgeous_ in the weak morning light—all golden hair and skin, snowflakes clinging to his fur mantle, eyes intently watching the recruits for any mistakes like he’d watched her make each move during their chess game. His cheeks were flushed from the cold but other than that he didn’t seem to notice the chill in the air.

            Slowly, she approached Cullen. She knew she needed a bath in the worst way but Maker take her if she didn’t want to at least let him know that she was _back_. She was close enough to call out to him when Blackwall noticed her.

            “Inquisitor,” he greeted her with a smile.

            “Blackwall,” she returned.

            Cullen turned his head, eyes meeting hers and that lopsided smile pulling at his scar so adorably. “Zara,” he murmured. “It’s good to see you!”

            She opened her mouth to reply but the words got stuck in her throat. She felt like a bumbling apprentice then, uncertain of what to do under another’s attention. _Like with Kat_. “Hey,” she managed, though her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.

            “I-I got your reply two days ago,” he babbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. _Maker, he’s adorable when he does that,_ she thought absently. “Thank you for writing me back.”

            “I should be thanking you,” Zara mumbled, trying to ignore the blush she felt heating her cheeks. “Your letter made the trip easier. Between the mud and the humidity, the Mire was hardly enjoyable. Reading it every morning gave me a reason to smile.” _Maker’s balls, did I really just say that?! I sound like an idiot!_ She wanted nothing more than to slink away then to her quarters and hide under the covers for the rest of the day out of sheer embarrassment.

            Cullen’s cheeks darkened at that and Zara thought she might explode. “I—”

            “There you are!” Josephine said from somewhere off to her right. Suddenly the ambassador was at her elbow, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak and looking extremely annoyed at the cold. (Or the time of her arrival. It was difficult to tell which.) “We heard the signal that you’d arrived. There are several things that need your attention, Inquisitor, once you’ve made yourself _presentable_.” She clucked distastefully at Zara’s mud-streaked face and armor. “The delegation from Orzamar that has requested to meet for lunch, there are six diplomats from various Marcher states that you must greet personally before dinner, two prisoners awaiting judgment, a war council at eleven’ o’clock sharp, and I need your approval for the menu for the Satinalia celebration. Oh, and the Arcanist has arrived and requested you meet her in the undercroft at your convenience. There are thirty letters from various nobles that are in need of a response and a formal treaty with Arl Teagan of Redcliffe that requires your signature.”

            Zara exchanged an amused glance with Cullen as Josephine stopped to breathe. “Very well, Ambassador,” she said quietly, nodding to the other woman. She looked at Cullen and Blackwall. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

            Both bade her farewell and Josephine followed her into the keep. She carried on about Zara’s schedule, and the Inquisitor listened intently mainly to figure out when she’d be able to see Cullen next. Unfortunately, between her many meetings and the sheer amount of paperwork that was waiting for her on her desk, she’d only be able to see him at the war council. She tried to ignore the deep disappointment that filled her chest at the thought.

            They stopped at the door leading to her quarters. “Once you’ve finished please meet me in the main hall,” Josephine said. “We’ll begin with the judgments.”

            “Who will I be judging exactly?” Zara asked, running a gloved hand through her hair.

            “Magister Alexius has been awaiting trail since you recruited the mages,” she explained quickly. “Ferelden’s crown has agreed to let you pass judgment as acknowledgment of your aid in reclaiming Redcliffe. There’s also an Avaar chieftain who… attacked the castle with… with a _goat_.”

            Zara’s hand paused on the door handle. “I beg your pardon?”

            Josephine sighed, “I said the exact same thing yesterday.” She bowed. “I will see you shortly, Inquisitor.”

            Zara nodded her farewell and entered her quarters, hurrying up the stairs and throwing her armor off once she reached the landing. Fresh clothing was laid out on her bed and a hot bath was waiting for her in the washroom. She made a note to thank Josephine for giving in to her (semi-sarcastic) request for a marble bath.

            She stripped down completely and sank into the water, groaning in delight as the heat eased her aching muscles.

            Twenty minutes later, Zara made her way down to the main hall to begin the day’s duties, though she felt a tad ridiculous wearing the gown Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne had selected specifically to impress the nobility who were gathered to witness her pass judgment on Alexius and the Avaar chieftain. It wasn’t that the gown was overly-showy or opulent—it was understated and made her appear regal—it was that she wasn’t used to wearing such finery. Having spent half of her life in the Circle with few reprieves for family affairs and the year she spent living in the wilderness, it had been ages since she’d felt so elegant. The gown was pale purple with elaborate gold embroidery on the sleeves and neckline, a woven belt around her waist. Thankfully the gown wasn’t so long that she was at risk of tripping. She’d carefully braided her hair to ensure that no strand would escape and make her appear flustered.

            Josephine met her at the dais and gave her a brief explanation of how the judgments would work, as well as options for suitable punishments she had discussed with the other advisors. She quickly explained that Alexius would be judged last, as his was the trial many of the nobles looked forward to the most. Once that was finished, Zara took her place on the throne—a large, imposing thing with the Inquisition’s seal stitched into the cloth and swords attached to the back like a morbid sunburst.

            Zara had never felt so uncomfortable as when she sat upon the throne at the head of the main hall with all eyes upon her. She tried her hardest to sit up straight like her etiquette tutor had taught her all those years ago without squirming in discomfort or yawning or (Maker forbid) shivering from the sheer cold. (The gown’s thick, dyed wool and overly-long sleeves kept her warm enough to where she wasn’t shivering, and she made a note to thank the women behind the decision.) Her heart pounded nervously and she hoped that she didn’t stammer as a result.

            As they brought the Avaar chieftain forward, she caught Cullen’s eye from where he stood next to Leliana toward the front of the crowd. He gave her a reassuring smile and nod, and suddenly she felt a surge of confidence. _I can do this,_ she thought. She tried not to notice the blush on his cheeks.

            It turned out the chieftain—Movran the Under—had only attacked out of tradition since she’d killed his fool of a son after a misunderstanding with the patrol they’d captured. Zara merely armed and exiled him to Tevinter. It seemed fitting that he fulfill what his son had attempted while giving her an edge over the nation that had spawned the Venatori.

            Alexius’ trial, however, was something else entirely.

            Where many nobles had whispered behind their hands during Movran’s trial, for Alexius the hall was dead silent.

            The poor man hardly looked like the confidant, self-assured magister she’d met in Redcliffe all those weeks ago. He was gaunt, eyes sunken and cheeks hallow. The part of her still bitter about the future she’d been forced to see wanted to lop of his head in revenge—or, worse still, make an example of him and brand his forehead with the sunburst, rendering him Tranquil. But a greater part of her felt genuinely _sorry_ that a man of his talent had fallen so low, and knew that killing him was a waste.

            So instead of petty revenge that benefitted no one, Zara decided to act for the betterment of the Inquisition.

            “Alexius,” she said slowly after he pleaded his case (to a degree), “your magic was theoretically impossible. I could use someone like you.” She paused as several shocked whispers floated through the hall. “I want you researching magic for the Inquisition. Someone with your talent is bound to have some use left.”

            Something sparked in Alexius’ eyes then—whether it was relief or anger or hope, she couldn’t tell. But as the disgraced magister was led away to Skyhold’s cells to await movement to whatever facility that would house him, Zara felt a rush of pride at her own ability to avoid more bloodshed.

            She stood and Josephine moved to her side. “Well done, Inquisitor!” she chirped with a grin. “Though I’ll admit I’m surprised you didn’t choose a harsher punishment for the magister after all you endured at Redcliffe.”

            “It would have been a waste to kill him or leave him to rot in a cell,” Zara explained as Leliana and Cullen joined them. “At least now he’ll be doing something useful for our cause.”

            “He will certainly be a valuable asset,” Leliana chimed in with a slight smile. “I will personally oversee his work, Inquisitor.”

            With that the group moved to the war room to begin their council. Both Leliana and Cullen reported that there was still little information to be found on Corypheus or Samson, his general that had been behind the attack on Haven. (Cullen’s face darkened when he mentioned the name and Zara made a note to ask him about it when she got the chance.) Josephine talked at great length about treaties being negotiated with Antiva’s merchant princes and, after Zara gave instructions for troop movements to secure a previously unknown pass through the Frostbacks to Skyhold, they ended the council.

            Josephine babbled about the dwarven delegation—their names and titles and any useful information that might assist in gaining Orzamar’s friendship—as the group exited the war room. However, Zara stopped dead when she saw Varric leaning against the wall, clearly waiting for them.

            “What is it, Varric?” she asked, dread making her stomach sink.

            He pushed off the wall and walked over to the group. “So, I know you’ve been having some trouble finding information on Corypheus,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Well, I sent word to a friend of mine. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and should be able to help us.”

            Zara practically felt her advisors exchange knowing glances. “I’m always looking for new allies,” she said. “Introduce me.” _Please,_ please _don’t let me regret this._

            Varric cast a quick glance over his shoulder as though the very suggestion would summon Cassandra like a demon, ready with a new set of accusations and a fist ready to re-break his nose. “It’s probably best to meet on the western battlements,” he whispered. “In _private_.”

            Leliana giggled behind her.

            With that, Varric hurried away as fast as he could.

            “If Varric’s brought who I think he has,” the spymaster tittered when Zara turned to look at her, “Cassandra is going to kill him.”

            “Josephine, will the Orzamar delegation mind if I reschedule the meeting for later this afternoon?” Zara asked.

            The ambassador sighed, shaking her head. “I will delay them. This informant might have something that might turn the tide in our favor, and I’m sure they’ll understand. No one knows the darkspawn threat better than Orzamar.”

            With that, Zara bade them farewell and made her way to the spot Varric had mentioned. Her mind raced at who the mysterious informant could possibly be. She’d read _The Tale of the Champion_ , and could guess that Varric had brought one of Hawke’s friends who had experience with ancient darkspawn magisters with great power. (Didn’t the book mention that Hawke’s brother had joined the Wardens?) Or perhaps Varric had a friend in the Grey Wardens outside of the Hawke family that had knowledge about Corypheus’ kind.

            The snow was falling harder now, and piles had accumulated on the ground and stone steps leading to the battlements. Zara wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. _I wish I’d brought a cloak,_ she thought bitterly.

            Varric was waiting for her at the northwestern corner of the battlements, beer in hand that he’d undoubtedly snatched from the tavern along the way. He didn’t appear fazed by the cold, but she knew he was silently cursing himself for not dressing warmer.

            “So who’s your mysterious friend?” she asked as the wind blew several strands of hair out of her once-perfect braid.

            The dwarf grinned and made a grand gesture as metal-glad footsteps approached. “Zara Trevelyan, meet Calliope Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

            Zara’s jaw dropped as she turned. Standing at the base of the stairs, a mere eight feet from where she stood, was the legendary apostate herself.

            She immediately began mentally comparing the woman to Varric’s descriptions out of _The Tale of the Champion_. Much like her semi-fictional counterpart, Calliope Hawke was rather tall (she stood half a head over Zara); her wild ebony hair pulled into a messy bun, several strands hanging over her forehead; eyes bluer than the summer sky met her own evenly, framed prettily by long, dark lashes; there was a small gash on her left brow above her eye (hadn’t Varric’s book mentioned she got it after falling down a well a number of years ago?); full lips curved in a smile like she was silently enjoying a joke no one else was in on; and a curved, beak-like nose where a slash of red stood out against her pale skin. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink color with cold despite the cloak she wore over her armor. A staff was fastened to her back with a similar harness Zara used, though the staff was short and blunted out of a need to avoid detection as an apostate.

            “Please call me Cal,” Hawke corrected with a wink. “My mother only used Calliope when I was in trouble.”

            “Which was most of the time,” Varric muttered under his breath and both mages laughed.

            “It’s an honor to meet you, Cal,” Zara greeted her with a slight bow.

            “The honor’s mine,” Cal returned easily. “As a Circle mage you’ve probably had little experience running about the countryside saving damsels from dragons, or whatever it is you’re doing with this lot. You’ve clearly adapted well.”

            “I spent a year in the wilderness running from Templars,” she replied, wry grin quirking her lips. “I think I can manage three meals a day and a well-built roof over my head.”

            Cal laughed loudly, the sound like a pealing bell in the winter air. She threw her whole body into it, showing that, despite her noble blood, she was a commoner at heart. “Then I think we’ll get along marvelously,” she said after a while.

            “Varric mentioned you had information regarding Corypheus?” Zara asked.

            She nodded. “That’s true. We encountered and killed him a few years back, and he somehow used his connection to the Blight to influence the Wardens holding him.”

            “He got into their heads,” Varric put in. “Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.”

            “If Corypheus is free they could have fallen under his control,” Cal finished, brow creasing in worry.

            Zara put her hands on her hips. _Shit…_ “So Corypheus has the Venatori, the Red Templars, and _possibly_ the Grey Wardens,” she muttered. “Oh, that’s lovely to hear.”

            “I didn’t come all this way just to give you bad news, however,” the Champion replied with a smile. “I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me.” She began to pace back and forth wildly, running her non-gauntleted hand through the loose strands of her hair. “His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. I haven’t heard anything since.”

            “Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” Varric muttered bitterly, leaning against the bualestrade. “Did Stroud disappear with them?”

            “Thankfully not.” Cal stopped pacing and sat on a nearby barrel. “He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”

            “But if you thought Corypheus was dead, what were you doing with the Wardens?” Zara asked, cocking an eyebrow.

            “Some of the Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium,” Cal replied. “It was… _red_. I had hoped the Wardens might tell me more.”

            “The Templars who attacked Haven had been exposed to the same sort of lyrium,” she said. _This is worse than we thought._ “There might be a connection.”

            “We’ll find out soon enough,” the taller woman said.

            “Well you’re welcome to stay at Skyhold until we leave for Crestwood,” Zara said with a bow. “Josephine will be more than happy to arrange your accommodations.”

            Cal stood and dusted off her trousers. “I appreciate it. As fun as living on the lamb has been, I’ve missed sleeping in a real bed.”

            Zara laughed. “I know exactly how you feel.”

 

* * *

 

            Cullen scowled as he walked out of his tower and into the cold evening air. Already snow had begun to fall and the wind blew snowflakes into his hair, which he shook out in annoyance.

            _I’ve got better things to do than attend some silly party,_ he thought with a frown. _There’s just too much work to be done._

            That afternoon a report had come in from Harding’s squad in Crestwood, and he hadn’t wasted time rushing to the Inquisitor’s quarters to deliver it personally… only to be turned away at the door by Leliana.

            “Josie, Vivienne, and I are helping her get ready for tonight,” she’d said, taking the report. “I’ll make sure she gets it. Now shoo!” She’d then promptly shut the door in his face.

            He adjusted the collar of the fine green velvet coat Josephine had commissioned, scowl deepening. He felt like an idiot in such finery, bare without the armor he’d grown accustomed to wearing daily.

            He passed through the rotunda and entered the main hall. Already the celebration was in full swing: groups of people were huddled together gossiping behind their hands, a band had set up close to the dais and couples moved rhythmically around the dance floor in time to the music, and tables were laden with food of all kinds.

            Josephine pushed her way through the crowd (how she managed while holding her ever-present writing board, he had no idea), taking time to shoot a glare at a soldier who came too close to stepping on the hem of her maroon gown. “Good to see you’ve joined us, Commander,” she said dryly, smiling politely. “Leliana was so certain you wouldn’t grace us with your presence.”

            “You _made_ me attend,” Cullen grumbled, though he managed a smile.

            “Still,” Josephine said with a shrug. She cast a quick glance around, making a noise of disapproval. “ _Where_ is Zara? I told her to come down ten minutes ago.”

            “Perhaps she got caught up in work,” Leliana quipped, walking up to them. “She was eager to read that report the Commander sent up.”

            The ambassador scowled. “Well, since it was the Commander’s idea to give it to her, perhaps he should be the one to fetch her.”

            Cullen shot her a glare. “Certainly you—”

            “Excellent!” Leliana said, already guiding Cullen in the direction of the door leading to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

            Mentally, Cullen was cursing the two women as Leliana gave him a shove toward the door leading toward the Inquisitor’s tower. He stumbled forward, casting a final glare at the spymaster before opening it and walking up the winding staircase.

            Once at the Inquisitor’s door he felt his throat run dry, hand outstretched to knock but unable to move. _What’s wrong with you?_ he thought. _Just knock!_

            After several moments of struggling to get his body to respond, he knocked on the door.

            There was no response.

            He knocked again. “Zara?”

            Still no answer.

            Fear gripped his heart. Leliana had taken it upon herself to keep an ear to the ground for word of assassination attempts on Zara’s life—she personally screened all members of the Inquisition from the servants to the officers, kept a copy of the guard assignments, everything that could be exploited by would-be assassins. But even then there was the possibility of something slipping through the cracks and endangering Zara…

            Cullen opened the door. “Zara?”

            He went up the stairs two at a time, coming to a dead stop at the landing and his breath left his lungs in a rush.

            Zara stood next to her desk, parchment in hand (the report?), dim light from the fire casting her in equal parts gold and shadow. She was dressed in a midnight blue gown with a plunging neckline and jeweled accents on the sleeves and high collar, the cut of the gown accentuating her small waist. The dark mass of her hair was carefully tamed, pinned away from her face, black curls falling to her waist.

            He cleared his throat.

            She looked up, startled. “Oh!” she gasped, a smile gracing her features. “I didn’t hear you enter! I’m late aren’t I?”

            He nodded. “Uh… Y-yes. Josephine sent me to come and get you.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. _Maker but she’s beautiful,_ he thought. He made a point to avoid glancing at the strip of dark skin exposed by her gown.

            “Oh dear,” she said, setting down the parchment with a laugh. “No doubt she’ll have a few choice words when I get down there.”

            “Undoubtedly,” he replied, barely managing a small smile in return. He became suddenly aware of the weight of the vial in his coat pocket. _Should I give it to her now?_ he wondered.

            The two walked down the stairs and into the main hall. Josephine practically materialized at Zara’s side, shaking her head and muttering something to the effect of, “Now is time for celebration, Inquisitor, not work!”

            _Pot calling the kettle black,_ Cullen thought, hiding a smile behind a gloved hand.

            The three settled into an easy conversation, but Cullen’s thoughts never wavered from the vial in his pocket. The longer they talked, the heavier it felt. He spent more time agonizing over when to give it to her than he would have liked. _What will I even_ tell _her when I give it to her? She’ll probably think it’s strange._

There came a loud crashing sound from across the room, followed by raucous laughter from Bull, Sera, Varric, and Cal.

            “Oh dear,” Zara said, giggling.

            Josephine heaved a sigh. “I _told_ them if they wanted to get drunk they should go to the tavern!” she scoffed. “Excuse me.” She hurried off to scold the four.

             Zara continued to laugh as, over the din of the party, Josephine could be heard loudly chastising the troublemakers. “How much do you want to bet the castle will be rubble by the end of the night?”

            “I certainly wouldn’t put it past any of them,” Cullen said dryly. “The Champion and her companions nearly razed Kirkwall more times than I can count.”

            “I can only imagine,” Zara said, dazzling smile creeping across her face.

            They fell silent when Cullen couldn’t find a reply, and he silently cursed himself. Maker take him, he was a fool! It shouldn’t have been _that_ difficult to talk with her. Yet whenever he found himself alone in her company it was like he couldn’t think and the words caught in his throat.

            After several moments Zara blurted, “Cullen, I was wondering if we might speak in private?” at the same time he finally said, “I was hoping to speak with you, Zara.”

            Both froze, eyes widening, before they laughed.

            “Perhaps we might speak outside?” Cullen offered. He felt his heart begin to race. _What does she want to talk about? Does she know about how I feel? Has she noticed how I look at her when she’s around? Does it make her uncomfortable? Does she wish me to stop, that we continue as friends and colleagues?_

            She nodded, taking his arm when he offered it. “Lead the way, Commander.”

            He led her through the crowd that had grown in number since he’d returned to the hall, many nobles and officers moving through a dance and more still deep in their cups while they conversed. Once past the majority of the crowd they went through the door leading to Skyhold’s gardens.

            The fresh air hit Cullen’s lungs like ice, but he relished the feeling. Compared the the stuffy, wine-soaked air of the main hall the chill of the night was a welcome change. Snow was still piled on the grass and walkways even though the worst of the storm had passed earlier that week. His breath was visible as puffs of white smoke that hung in the air for several moments before fading away. He turned to Zara, and the warm smile curling her full lips made his heart constrict.

            She let go of his arm and stepped past him into the night. Her skirts were whisper-soft as they brushed over the grass, stray snowflakes falling from trees rustling in the wind catching in her dark hair. She looked lovely in the starlight, much like that night after Haven when they’d sat and watched the stars. The only difference between then and now was that his desire to kiss her, to tell her how he felt, was much stronger.

            “It never really snowed in Ostwick,” she explained quietly. “But every few years in late winter we’d get storms that made it cold enough to get a little bit. On those days my siblings and I ditched our lessons to go play. The first time I really saw it snow was when I came to Ferelden.”

            Cullen smiled at that, silently imagining a young Zara running across a field as snow fell from an overcast sky, throwing snowballs at siblings whose faces he couldn’t make out. “It snowed every winter in Honnleath,” he found himself saying, walking to her. “My siblings and I used to have snowball fights with all the other children in the village.”

            She smiled gently at him for a moment before lowering her gaze to the ground. “I, uhhh…” she stammered, and he tried not to notice how her cheeks darkened as she blushed. She quickly reached into the pocket sewn into her skirt. “I got you something for Satinalia.”

            Zara held up a vial filled with potion and he took it from her, studying it.

            “I’ve been working on something to… to help with your withdrawals,” she said in a rush. “Crystal grace, crushed elfroot, and dawn lotus extract. Keep in mind it’s no magical cure-all, just a treatment; taking it regularly, I would recommend at night since it might make you drowsy, should reduce your symptoms and make them more manageable. It, ummm… it’s the ‘secret’ project I’ve been working on. I wanted to give it to you sooner but I had to wait until we’d gone to the Fallow Mire in order to acquire fresh samples of dawn lotus. Turns out Ser Morris can only do so much to requisition rare alchemical goods.”

            Cullen continued to stare down at the vial in complete disbelief. She had _listened_ and had worked tirelessly in secret to _help_ him. When was the last time anyone had done something such as this for him? Hell, when was the last time anyone had gotten him a gift in _general_? A balloon of happiness filled his chest, because, despite his own doubts that Zara would ever return his feelings, he knew that she _cared_ about his wellbeing.

            He met her jade gaze. “Thank you, Zara,” he said hoarsely. “This… this means a great deal to me.”

            She smiled in return. “I… You’re welcome, Cullen.”

            Both fell silent for several moments after he pocketed the potion, never once breaking eye contact even as they both fought themselves to speak up.

            “I have something for you as well,” he finally managed. Reaching into his other coat pocket, he pulled out the phylactery and held it out.

            Zara’s eyes widened as her hand tentatively reached out to take the vial from him. Even though he wore gloves, he could feel the heat from her skin and the touch made his cheeks flame as he remembered the night she’d run to his office and he’d held her hands in his own, how soft her skin was.

            “Is.. is this what I think it is?” she asked breathlessly.

            “Yes,” Cullen replied. “I had to call in a favor in the White Spire, but my contact pulled through. He found records detailing the location where they hid your phylactery—somewhere near Serault I’m told—and had it sent here. I figured it’s safer in your hands since Corypheus and Samson know you’re a mage.”

            Zara was silent for a short while, merely staring in awe at the blood-filled vial. “I-I can’t believe you went to all that trouble to track it down,” she murmured.

            “I-I was happy to do it,” he replied. She looked up and he noticed the tears in her eyes. _Shit!_ Once again he found himself babbling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you! I only wanted—”

            She rocked on the balls of her feet and pressed close—the scent of lavender soap and elfroot invading his senses in the best way—before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He immediately stopped talking and blushed at the sinfully soft feeling of her lips against his skin.

            “Thank you, Cullen,” she murmured, pulling away.

            Cullen found that all he could do was stare, completely dumbfounded. _Did she just…?_ He tried to ignore that she was blushing too.

            A sly look came to her eyes after a time and she grinned. “How far can you throw, Commander?”

            “What?” he asked in surprise.

            “C’mon!” She took his hand and led him through the garden, practically running despite her gown. They rushed up the steps leading to the battlements, Zara’s footsteps hardly making a sound on the stone, and into the tower undergoing renovations to be used as a headquarters for the mages.

            “Where are we going?” he asked.

            “Trust me,” she said through her laughter.

            She climbed the ladder leading to the roof and Cullen followed after she’d disappeared from view. The wind was stronger atop the tower than it had been in the garden, ruffling their hair and sending chills down Cullen’s spine—or maybe that was from merely watching Zara in the starlight.

            She pressed the phylactery into his hand. “Throw it off the battlements.”

            He cocked an eyebrow.

            “Throw it,” she urged with a grin.

            Cullen shrugged and took two steps away from her. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.

            She nodded, and he heard the ice crackling in an eerie music at her fingertips. “Absolutely.”

            He looked out over the edge of the battlements. The Frostbacks stood tall and proud, blocking out everything past them. Snow along their slopes drifted to the side in the wind like mist. Making sure he had a decent grip on the vial, he threw it with all his strength into the night air. The phylactery sailed ten, twenty, thirty yards out and, as it began to fall, Zara raised a hand to cast her spell.

            A shard of ice shot forward from her hand and pierced the glass vial with a loud shattering noise he heard clearly despite the distance and the wind howling in his ears. The phylactery fractured midair, scarlet drops of blood and pieces of shimmering glass seemingly hanging in the air for the longest time before slowly falling to the ground hundreds of feet below them.

            Cullen turned to look at Zara, both grinning hugely. Zara’s shoulders were slumped in what he assumed was relief. The last piece holding her to the Circle she was no longer part of had been destroyed, after all; an invisible chain similar to Cullen’s, bound in blood instead of lyrium.

            She took several steps back and leaned heavily against the bualestrade before slowly sinking to the freezing stone. There wasn’t a second that she stopped smiling. She patted the ground next to her and said, “Sit with me.”

            Cullen walked over to her and did just that. Shoulder to shoulder, both watched as the remains of her phylactery disappeared from view before turning their gazes further upwards to the stars. Some clouds concealed parts of the heavens, but Cullen didn’t mind. All that mattered was that he was spending time with the woman he cared for so deeply it bordered on love.

            But he couldn’t keep his eyes on the stars for long. Eventually he watched her watch the stars, marveling at the awe and sheer happiness in her eyes. It made his heart skip a beat like something out of those romance novels Cassandra said she didn’t read. Everything about Zara seemed to draw him in, every detail demanding his full attention and making it difficult to concentrate on anything else but _her_.

            Cullen realized then he wasn’t just falling in love with Zara. He was _in love_ with her, and only falling harder with each moment he spent in her presence.

            Zara cleared her throat, and he realized her eyes had met his.

            Cullen started, blushing not just because of his thought process but at being caught staring.

            “I do believe you promised me a rematch in chess, Commander,” she teased gently. Her cheeks were several shades darker as she blushed. Had he made her uncomfortable? Maker, he hoped not.

            “Indeed I did, Inquisitor,” he replied, though his voice sounded strangled to his own ears. _The things she does to me._ “C’mon, we can go back to my office.”

            He stood and held out a gloved hand to help her up, and she rose to her feet gracefully. She went down the ladder first, Cullen following shortly afterward and both walked along the battlements to his tower, saying nothing the entire way.

            Cullen was silently thankful only a few of the candles had burned down in his office, leaving them with plenty of light. The chess board was sitting on the table near the sofa, the pieces in their places after he’d reset them following their game four weeks earlier.

            “W-would you like anything to drink?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. _I need to stop doing that,_ he thought bitterly.

            Zara smiled. “Please,” she replied, sitting on the sofa and unpinning her hair.

            He busied himself removing his coat and gloves, laying them on his desk, and taking a decanter of whiskey off the shelf and pouring some into two tumblers. He tried not to notice how his hands shook slightly out of nervousness, cursing that he didn’t have his sword to rest them on so she wouldn’t notice. Drinks in hand, he walked over to her, heart thudding erratically as her long, delicate fingers ruffled her hair.

            _What I wouldn’t give to run my hands through her hair._

            He shook his head, annoyed at himself for thinking such things while she sat barely two feet from him. He handed her the drink and sat on the other end of the couch, eyes taking in how the candlelight cast shadows along the dark slope of her neck and along her elegant cheekbones.

            Zara took a sip of her drink and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you.”

            Cullen managed a short, “Of course.” He couldn’t trust himself to say more than that while he desperately wanted to tell her everything he was thinking.

            She laughed, eyes distant as she remembered something. “In the Circle, myself and the other apprentices used to sneak alcohol from the Knight-Captain’s private stock. Unfortunately it consisted entirely of dwarven ale. Eventually everyone developed a sort of tolerance to the stuff.”

            He found himself laughing at that. “And what did the Knight-Captain think?”

            “He never found out,” she said through her laughter. “Or if he did, we never knew. The man was a bastard. Any chance we got to slight him we took it.” She paused to sip her drink. “The first time Karimah, Gareth, and I took some was after I’d been named enchanter. I woke up the next morning in a broom closet on the third floor wearing a Chantry sister’s robes with no memory as to how I got there.”

            “Did you ever find out?” Cullen asked with a smile, setting the board between them.

            She shook her head, laughing too hard to give an immediate reply. Once she’d stopped she said, “Gareth and Karimah had no idea! Though there was one Chantry sister who could never look me in the eye after that…”

            He chuckled. “I can only imagine how you got into that situation in the first place.”

            “At this point, only the Maker knows,” she said. She took her turn.

            “What’re Gareth and Karimah like?” he found himself asking, moving a pawn. “You’ve talked about them before but not in detail.”

            Zara thought for a moment. “I met Karimah the day after I was taken to the Circle. She’d just arrived from Wycome and our bunks were next to each other. She was a few years older than me but we didn’t care. She reminded me of my older sister Marie, and from what I could tell I reminded her of her younger sister back in Wycome. She’s my best friend and closest confidant, other than Lydia of course. She’s also the most protective of me out of my friends in the Circle. She passed her Harrowing a year after I did and took a position as an archivist for the Circle library.

            “I met Gareth when I was fourteen. His clan had been killed after they took in an apostate running from Templars in… in Kirkwall.” She paused and glanced at him, but he couldn’t read the emotion there. “He made his way to Ostwick and was living in the alienage when he came into his magic—he was fifteen or sixteen at the time. He’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever known and he thoroughly enjoyed tormenting the Templars with Lyam when we were still in the Circle. It used to get him into loads of trouble but there was nothing we could do to stop it. He passed his Harrowing a year and a half before the war began, and specialized in the study of creatures and how exposure to the Fade or magic in general affects their behaviors.”

            As she talked, Cullen watched how she gestured with her hands as she talked, how her smile widened as she spoke of her friends with great fondness. She was so lovely…

* * *

           

            “Is Lyam another friend of yours?” Cullen asked. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

            Zara felt her smile disappear instantly as cold fear clutched her heart, instantly replaced by the same hallow sadness she felt whenever Lyam was brought up. _Maker curse me for letting his name slip into the conversation._ “He… he was…” She tossed back the last of her whiskey, silently grateful for the bitter taste that burned at her throat to distract her from her own sadness, and then paused as she collected her thoughts. “Lyam was an apprentice of Lydia’s along with myself. She was training us both to become healers once we’d passed each passed the Harrowing.

            “Lyam was two years older than I and had been at the Circle for a year at the time I arrived. He was a good person, and an even better mage. I’ve never seen anyone—apprentice or enchanter—with more skill than he. But… Lyam had a mouth; he was constantly getting into trouble for speaking against the Templars and Chantry. I can’t even begin to count the number of times he had to serve penance in the Circle’s chantry or got put in solitary.

            “Then, one day, Lyam wasn’t in class. I assumed he’d got into trouble again or was undertaking his Harrowing, as he’d proven himself ready. Two days passed, then three, but no one knew where he’d gone.” Zara took a deep breath. “A week later I had to go to the stock room to get some extra alchemical equipment and… that was when I saw him… With the sunburst brand on his forehead.”

            “Maker, I’m sorry,” Cullen managed, looking flustered and ashamed. “I shouldn’t have pried; you obviously didn’t mention him for a reason and I—”

            “It’s fine, Cullen,” Zara interrupted with a placating gesture. “To be honest I’m surprised Leliana hadn’t already told you. She has more information on me than I’d ever care to have let known.”

            “Back in Haven she told us that she had agents collecting information on you,” he replied. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I told her to at least let you have _some_ privacy. Certainly everyone has things they’d rather not have strangers know.”

            _He…?_ Zara looked up from her empty glass and met his eyes. “You asked her not to? I… Thank you, Cullen.” _So he doesn’t know about Lanet and the west wing…_

            He smiled in return but gave no reply.

            She pursed her lips as she thought, about both the chess game and Lyam. “After I saw Lyam I went straight to Lydia’s office and demanded to complete my Harrowing,” she found herself saying. “She knew that I was powerful enough but… many of the other senior mages didn’t agree. They felt that I wasn’t ready, or that I was too angry about Lyam to complete it properly and that I’d become possessed to get revenge. I had to fight for it, but in the end they caved and let me complete the Harrowing. I was the youngest in the Ostwick Circle’s history to do it.” She smiled. “The pride on Lydia’s face when I woke up the next morning… I think she’d look the same if she could see me now.”

            “Was she an advocate for mage rights like you?” Cullen asked, taking his turn.

            _Damn, he’s got my tower cornered._ “Yes, but she wasn’t as outspoken as Lyam or myself or even Gareth. I voted for rebellion when First Enchanter Armistead held the vote last year and Lydia voted for neutrality. She thought we could wait out the storm.”

            They fell into silence after she took her turn, focused on the game before them. Zara refilled her tumbler twice in that time. Already she could feel the alcohol pleasantly buzzing in her veins. (Not that a few glasses of whiskey—weak in comparison to dwarven ale—would be enough to get her drunk.)

            Zara mentally went through what (little) information she knew about Cullen, hoping to ask him about his life. She had been so withdrawn in Haven and the aftermath of being named in Inquisitor that she had little time to ask him questions in return. She thought back to their conversations at Haven and decided to go from there.

            “You once said that you were stationed at Ferelden’s Circle,” she said abruptly after a time.

            “I was,” Cullen said, albeit cautiously.

            “If you don’t mind my asking… The Hero of Ferelden, Honoria Amell, was a mage.” She paused as he met her gaze. She cursed herself when couldn’t identify the emotions she found there. “Did you know her by any chance?”

            Cullen was silent for several moments, and in the back of her mind Zara worried that he wouldn’t answer at all.

            “I attended her Harrowing actually,” he said, taking his turn. “She was a lovely woman.”

            Zara felt jealousy, hot and ugly, rise up in her chest. _Oh Maker…_ “’Lovely?’”

            “I…T-there was some _youthful infatuation_ on my part,” he stammered, again rubbing the back of his neck.

            “You never… _acted_ on it?” she pressed.

            She tried not to notice how red his cheeks became at her question. “Well, I ummm… W-we may have, ah, kissed once when she left after being conscripted. B-but other than that no. She was one of my charges and I had to keep my distance.” He paused. “We parted on less than sterling terms the last time we spoke.”

            Zara had spent enough time in the Circle to hear some of the rumors that had come out of Ferelden’s Circle at the time of the Blight—something about one of the senior mages becoming an abomination and the Circle nearly being annulled if not for the actions of Warden Amell. She dreaded to know the darkness behind Cullen’s words. Undoubtedly he had seen _things_ when those unpleasant events occurred, just as he surely seen in Kirkwall as Knight-Captain.

            The _Knight-Captain,_ she reminded herself. Any mage who’d spent time in any Circle within the last nine years had heard the stories about Knight-Commander Meredith and her equally terrifying Knight-Captain. It was easy to spread rumors, and whether those stories were completely factual was another matter.

            But that was for another day. One where Cullen could finally feel comfortable admitting to his past.

            “I know you mentioned that relationships were forbidden in the Circle,” Cullen said. “Was there anyone _you_ pined for, since we’re on the subject?”

            Zara shifted uncomfortably, taking a sip of her whiskey. “You’re asking about what Cole mentioned that night after Haven?” _Flaming red hair and the most beautiful blue eyes, like the sea outside my window._

            He nodded.

            She moved a knight, advancing on his queen. “I… used to be completely infatuated with this one Templar. Knight-Templar Katherine Shephard of Markham. Tall, red hair, blue eyes, freckles I could spend hours counting…” She felt herself smile against her will, remembering simpler and happier times. “She arrived at the Circle a month after myself and I spent the better part of two years pining for her. Finally she approached me one day and stammered through a written confession of her feelings. We were together for a year before she… cut ties.”

            “What made the two of you part ways?” he asked gently.

            “I can’t claim to know what brought her to the decision,” she replied. “But she said she couldn’t be seen with a… with a mage.” She looked down to her hands, curled around her glass.

            “So when you asked me that night I escorted you back to your cabin in Haven, if I was comfortable being with seen with a mage…?”

            “I thought you might feel similarly,” she said. “Now it seems foolish; you’ve been nothing but kind to me and the other mages in the Inquisition.”

            “I’m glad you trust me, Zara,” Cullen said with that wonderful lopsided grin she adored so much.

            “Likewise,” she murmured. Neither looked away for several moments before Zara cleared her throat and blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked down at the chessboard.

            “Well, Commander, now that we’ve both been sufficiently distracted… Checkmate.” She knocked over his king with a grin.

            Cullen looked at the board, brow furrowed. “Wait, how did you—?!”

            “I studied your tactics during our last game,” she said, slipping off her shoes under her gown and curling her legs beneath her. “Also, Bull gave me a few pointers while we were away. Apparently you’re too cautious with your knights.”

            He scowled. “Rematch. This time I won’t go easy.”

            She found herself laughing at that. “Bring your best, Commander!”

            _I think I could get used to this,_ she thought.

 

* * *

 

            Cullen woke slowly, warm and content and, for the first time in what felt like forever, _well rested_. He shifted and opened his eyes slowly, surprised to feel a weight against his body pressing him into the cushions of the sofa in his office; not a great deal, but enough to be slightly uncomfortable after a long period of time.

            He blinked and Zara’s dark hair came into focus. She was nestled snuggly in his arms, head against his chest and near his heart. She looked at ease as her fingers tightened their grip on his shirt when she felt him shift beneath her.

            His heart thudded wildly at the sight of her, how her scent enveloped him completely in the most pleasant way. It was something he found himself aching to experience every morning.

            Cullen circled an arm around her waist, holding her closer, and pressed a kiss to her hair. It was an intimate thing best suited for lovers, not friends or colleagues, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed.

            Slowly—very, very slowly—Zara stirred and opened her eyes. She looked up and met his gaze for a moment before closing her eyes, smiling, and pressing against him once more. “Good morning,” she murmured.

            “Morning,” he replied softly, stroking her hair. It was impossibly soft against his skin. “We should probably get up.”

            She scowled, nose scrunching adorably as she did. “But you’re so comfy,” she said, voice slurred.

            He laughed quietly. “I suppose I could spare a few minutes,” he joked. He almost didn’t want to admit it, but he was loathe to end the moment, too.

            Nearly a quarter of an hour after the sun was visible over the battlements, Zara moved off him and he sat up. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I think this is the latest I’ve slept since I became Inquisitor,” she teased.

            Cullen laughed at that, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He stood and walked over to his desk, mentally running through his schedule. _Training, reports and requisition proposals, war council, meeting with Rylen, more training, armory inspection, meeting with Josephine, dinner if I can spare the time, and more reports._

            Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zara stretch her arms over her head, and his mind blanked as he watched her movements. Her back gently arched, every inch of her delicate lines and gentle curves. The plunging neckline of her gown flaunted a little more as her muscles moved. He felt his cheeks heat when he saw the slight curve of her breasts, and he found himself wondering if her back would arch the same way if he were to kiss his way down her neck to her chest…

            _Maker’s breath I need to stop!_

            Zara stood and picked up her shoes in one hand and straightened her gown with the other. “Thank you again for last night,” she said, hair framing her face just so. “And I… I’ll see you at the war council.”

            “Y-yes,” he managed, voice hoarse with desire even though he was fighting to control it. “Until later, Zara.”

            She gave him one last smile before slipping out the door leading to the walkway, undoubtedly heading back to her tower to change and begin her day.

            Cullen slumped against the desk, cursing himself for shamelessly admiring Zara in such a way that he felt his cock hardening in his trousers. He began reciting the Chant under his breath, hoping that it would distract him from his sinful thoughts about a certain Marcher mage.

            _This is going to be a long day,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked the idea of Cullen looking for a mage Trevelyan's phylactery, and so I managed to sneak it in here. Cullen being super inappropriate at the end wasn't planned originally but I liked the way it fit with the scene. Also, Cal has been an utter delight to write for. (Expect more from her in the next chapter!)
> 
> Feel free to go on my tumblr if you want to talk about this fic, my OCs, if you want to send me prompts, or if you just want to talk.
> 
> Your kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscribes mean the world to me! Thank you so much for giving this story love!
> 
> [Sketch of Zara and Cullen](http://seniorenchantertrevelyan.tumblr.com/post/150749119652/zara-and-cullen-from-chapter-10-of-noble-drawn) from this chapter by the wonderful eleenachan! <3333


	11. A Word of Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zara departs for Crestwood, Cal gives out advice, and Cullen pines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short since I made ch 10 so long and ch 12 will be another long one. But hey, it works for the overall pacing so...

            **_A letter from Karimah to Zara:_**

_Zara,_

_You can’t imagine how relieved I was to get your letter. Since the Breach opened there have been only rumors and hearsay, especially regarding you. First the Chantry wants you dead, then they scowl from a distance, now they’re falling at your feet in worship. Undoubtedly you’re getting a kick out of it after all you said against them while in the Circle. But knowing that you survived the events at Haven was enough to comfort me to the point where I was able to sleep._

_First Enchanter Armistead received a letter from Knight-Commander Oliver not long after you recruited the rebels extending sanctuary to those of us left alive. He agreed and we’re currently back in Ostwick. Many are uneasy, more still terrified. No one’s gone up to the Harrowing chamber—too many lost friends and colleagues in the slaughter._

_There was a meeting yesterday with the senior mages; apparently your spymaster—Sister Nightingale I believe was the name—sent an agent with an offer of alliance with your Inquisition. We held a vote and it was unanimously decided that we join you. After all, we’re far safer amongst your soldiers and spies than on our own or hiding out in the tower._

_But enough talk of that._

_Gareth and I have been worried sick about you! Your letters have become few and far between since they handed you the title of Inquisitor. I know it’s because you’re busy battling demons and fending off the nobility, but I wish you’d make more time for yourself. When was the last time you slept more than four hours or read a book that wasn’t a military stratagem or_ The Botanical Compendium _?_

_Thanks to the influence of the Inquisition—and your family’s as well because who in all of Thedas could convince seasoned sailors to let fifty mages onto a ship at one time—we’re taking ship out of Ostwick next week to Jader, and from there marching to Skyhold. I can’t wait to see you again, my friend!_

_Always, Karimah_

_P.S. Don’t think I didn’t notice you referred to your commander as “Cullen” instead of his title like you did in your previous letter. As soon as I get to Skyhold you and I are going to have a long, in-depth discussion about it. That way you won’t be able to keep the details from me!_

 

* * *

 

            Despite recruit training and the never-ending pile of paperwork on his desk, Cullen found himself in the lower bailey a week after Satinalia in order to say farewell to Zara when she left for Crestwood.

            The courtyard was a scene of organized chaos: squires and stable hands carrying out orders, soldiers packing away supplies on lightweight carts, and the Inquisitor and her party prepping their mounts for the journey.

            She was adjusting her saddlebags when Dorian tapped her shoulder, gesturing to him as he made his way over to her.

            She turned and met his gaze, and Cullen felt his heart skip a beat. Ever since they’d fallen asleep in his tower after the celebrations she’d seemed… shyer than before. Almost like she was uncertain of how to act after such an intimate moment.

            Not that he was any better.

            A squire held the the reins of Zara’s mare while she walked over. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and the sun glinted off her breastplate, the Inquisition seal beaten into the silverite.

            “I-I came to see you off,” Cullen stammered, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword.

            She gave a gentle smile in return. “I… Y-yes. Thank you.”

            Despite himself, Cullen reached for her gauntleted hand and squeezed it with his own. “Promise me you’ll keep yourself safe.”

            “I will,” she said. Holding her hand felt… right, he decided. Like it was meant to be there. “I, uhhh… H-have you been taking the potion?”

            “I have,” he replied softly. “It might be too soon to notice a difference but I have been having less headaches than usual.”

            Zara nodded, and he tried not to notice the relief in her eyes. “Let me know if you notice any side effects.”

            “Certainly,” Cullen said with a smile. He paused, loving how the morning sun glinted off her dark skin. “Write to me?”

            “Whenever I’m able,” was her answer.

            Reluctantly, Cullen released her hand as she moved over to her horse and pulled herself up. “I’ll see you in a month,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

            She nudged the side of her mount with her heel, urging the mare forward, and her party followed suit. Bull, Sera, Dorian, and Hawke kept pace with her while the two wagons and small complement of soldiers trailed after.

            And then they were gone, leaving a courtyard full of well-wishers and Cullen, lost in his own thoughts.

            _Three weeks,_ he thought. _Three weeks to find my courage and tell her how I feel._

            At least, he hoped.

 

* * *

 

            Zara eased her eyes open, frustrated at herself for waking up when her dreams were so much better than the reality of another long day’s march to Crestwood. But she took small comfort in knowing they’d reach the small village later that day if they kept their current pace. (And if the storm they’d seen brewing on the horizon the previous day wasn’t as severe as it seemed.)

            Over the patter of rain falling on the tent, she heard her bunkmates—Sera and Cal—both snoring. However, she couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed with the two.

            She rubbed her eyes and rolled onto her back. If only she could go back and relive the beautiful dream where she was once again wrapped in Cullen’s arms with his fingers running through her hair.

            Ever since that morning she’d woken up in his tower Zara’s dreams had become more vivid, leaving her chest aching with how unbearably _sweet_ Cullen had been both in reality and her imagination. Part of her not yet out of the Circle and unbroken in the habits learned there had been ashamed for being so careless—anyone could have walked in and seen them, or witnessed her walk back to her quarters afterward—but the other part, the part helplessly infatuated with the golden-haired man who stood across from her each day at the war table, practically _glowed_ with the knowledge of how his strong arms felt wrapped around her and his heart beating against her cheek.

            Zara sat up and ran a hand through her hair. _Best to start prepping for the day,_ she thought. _If I have time to fantasize about Cullen I have time to get ready._

            She reached into her pack and pulled out a fresh pair of smallclothes, her trousers, and a clean shirt to wear beneath her armor, pulling off her sleep shirt as she did. As she dressed she mentally reviewed the information gathered on the small village: _all contact out of Crestwood ceased shortly after the Breach opened, possible demonic activity due to multiple rifts sighted in the region, lull in trade due to bandits, Grey Warden activity after Stroud was sighted._

            Two hours later, after breakfast had been eaten and plans reviewed, Zara and her party packed up camp and began the final leg of their journey.

            Zara, a skilled rider even before joining the Inquisition, pulled out several reports from her saddlebag and reviewed them as she rode. She trusted her mare to keep pace even without her directly holding the reins. _Dennet trained her well,_ she thought.

            Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cal fall back to ride beside her.

            “So…” she said, cocking a dark brow. “You and the Commander, eh?”

            “Surely I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zara replied, fighting to keep her tone dry.

            Cal grinned. “Yeah you do. I’d know that ‘I’m hopelessly in love with this person and I don’t have the guts to tell them how I feel’ look anywhere. I had the same one for three years, or at least that’s what Varric said.” She paused. “Are you going to tell him?”

            Zara sighed, wishing with all her being that the mage—like so many of her companions—would just _drop the subject_ when she asked. _Maybe Dorian paid them to annoy me._ “I don’t know.”

            “Is this a Circle mage thing?” she asked. “I know that you’re forbidden from marrying and having children and whatnot. Anders mentioned a few times that romantic relationships were frowned upon.”

            “I…I don’t know,” Zara lamented. “I suppose it might be. You can take the mage out of the Circle, but you can’t take the Circle out of the mage. Or that’s what the saying is, at least. I’ve never been good with expressing my emotions.” _And who’s fault is that?_

            Zara looked up and saw Cal give her a sympathetic look. “Now _that_ I can understand,” she teased. “How about some friendly advice from your seventh cousin?”

            “I was hoping you didn’t know about that,” Zara joked.

            “I got bored and memorized the Amell family tree,” Cal said, gesturing dismissively. “Also Mother used to say you can’t spit in the Free Marches without hitting a noble somehow related to the Trevelyans.”

            “Well _that_ much it true!” Zara said through her laughter.

            After the two stopped their joking, Cal paused as she collected her thoughts. “It took three years for Fenris and I to admit there was… _something_ between us. That was three years of me whining to Varric about my feelings and generally feeling miserable because I had no idea how he felt. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was doing the exact same thing. Minus seeking romantic advice from Varric because it’s _Fenris_.

            “Then it was another three years of both of us feeling sorry for ourselves because neither of us knew how to communicate that we wanted to be together. Well, that and Fenris needed time to figure himself out. But my point is this: if you don’t communicate, things will take longer than necessary to work out. Tell him how you feel before your responsibilities tear you apart.”

            Zara was silent, mulling over everything Cal had said. She was right, of course. Zara knew that communicating her feelings was going to make everything _much_ easier for them both. _Look at what happened with you and Gareth,_ she thought.

            “I… You’re right, Cal,” she murmured.

            “I usually am,” the other mage said with a wink.

            Both were silent, the only sounds to be heard being Bull and Sera’s lively conversation over Sera shooting arrows through Bull’s horns, the patter of rain on the ground, and the horses’ hooves connecting with the softening ground.

            “If you don’t mind me asking,” Zara said after a while. “Why isn’t Fenris with you?”

            Cal’s expression darkened. “I had to keep what remains of my family safe,” she replied. “Fenris would’ve killed himself to protect me had I brought him. I… I didn’t want to risk it. I told him I was following a lead on the red lyrium, but he doesn’t know where I am _exactly_. Otherwise he’d track me down and I’d never hear the end of it. Once all this business is done, however, I’ll be rejoining him in Kirkwall. If we’re all still standing, that is.”

            “I think _you’ll_ make it at the very least,” Zara joked. “You’ve survived worse.”

            “And how would you know that?” Cal asked dryly. “I thought _The Tale of the Champion_ was forbidden reading the the Circle.”

            “I voted for rebellion” she replied. “Where do you think I got the idea from, exactly?”

            Before Cal could offer a reply, Dorian cried, “There’s Crestwood in the distance!”

            _Time to save the day,_ Zara thought as her smile faded.

 

* * *

 

            Two weeks after Zara left for Crestwood, the first letter arrived for Cullen. One of Leliana’s agents delivered it late in the morning, giving him a strange look as he took it perhaps _too_ eagerly.

            Cullen sat at his desk, ignoring reports and requisition requests, and stared at his name written in Zara’s hasty cursive. For whatever reason, it made his heart skip a beat to know that she’d written his _name_ so simply, without the extra trappings of his title that always seemed to put distance between them.

            _Except when she used it to tease me during our chess game,_ he reminded himself. He felt himself grin like an idiot at the memory. He never thought he’d love how his title sounded when she spoke to him in jest.

            He broke the seal and read. She had made it safely to Crestwood, and they were working to seal a rift that was causing the dead to rise. They had put off locating Stroud until that was dealt with. There was a storm making passage through the region difficult on horseback and “an even bigger pain in the arse” on foot.

            The second page of her letter was far more personal. She was well, but missed his company greatly. She was looking forward to seeing him and once again challenging him in chess since they were tied for matches won. She talked about how Dorian had gone so far as to ask if she wanted strategies for cheating. (But she was quick to mention that she’d told the other mage she wouldn’t, “no matter how he wiggled his eyebrows” at her.) She asked him about his withdrawals, if he was taking the potion she’d given him regularly (he mentally reminded himself to tell her that he took it in the evenings as she recommended), if he was feeling well at the moment, if he was getting much sleep and at least _trying_ to eat regularly. She hoped he would reply soon and begged him to take care.

            She signed it, _Always, Zara._

            Cullen sat there for several minutes, reading and rereading her words to the point where he had most of it memorized. It wasn’t until he felt his cheeks hurt that he realized he was smiling uncontrollably at her words and the concern she expressed for him.

            When was the last time he’d ever felt so _good_? The last decade of his life had been filled with so much darkness and anger and hatred, but being around Zara made him feel like his old self again. He hadn’t smiled this much in a long time, and he certainly didn’t remember the last time he’d actually _laughed_ the way he did around her.

            But all good things come to an end, and by the time Cullen had finished reading her letter for the fifth time he felt a twinge of pain behind his eyes.

            _Oh Maker no,_ he thought with a groan. _No, no, no!_

            The pain spread quickly from there until his head felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders and every noise, no matter how quiet, grated against his ears. The soft morning light was much too bright, blinding him and making his eyes water. The room began to spin as dizziness set it and he set the letter down to hold his head in his hands. He was thirsty, but he knew water would not quench it. His fingers desperately ached to reach for the lyrium kit in his desk and finally, _finally_ give in to the itch in his veins.

            _What I wouldn’t give for my chain to be as easily broken as Zara smashing her phylactery,_ he thought.

            But Cullen pushed through the pain as he always had. He moved Zara’s letter to the side and reached for Rylen’s report on Red Templar weapons excavated at Haven, ignoring how the letters swam across the page and how his hands trembled uncontrollably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when things were getting cute, I throw in the angst. (Of which there will be more of next chapter.)
> 
> If you want to talk about this fic or my OCs or just want to say hi, check out my tumblr! (seniorenchantertrevelyan)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or bookmarked this fic! You guys are amazing and I'm so grateful for the love you've given this! <3


	12. Perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's withdrawals reach their worst. Meanwhile, some new but familiar faces arrive at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this last week but I had a serious medical emergency that took up all of my time. (Thank you to the ladies of the Cullenite Facebook page for your kind words!) I'm doing alright now and have several follow-up appointments to make sure all systems are firing normally, so updates might not be as regular as I'd like them to be.
> 
> As you can probably tell from the chapter title and summary, this is going to be a hell of an angst bomb. (I cried while writing it.) So I included some comedy at the end to lighten the mood and set it up for the next chapter. However, I suck at comedy and so it's not really all that funny. :/ I edited the fuck out of it so it's marginally funnier than when I originally wrote it.

            When Zara, her party, Hawke, and Warden Stroud clattered into Skyhold’s lower bailey late in the afternoon a week after she’d originally promised to return, she knew Josephine would have a few choice words for her regarding _punctuality_.

            Not that it was _entirely_ her fault. Not long before their departure from Crestwood she’d received a report from Cullen detailing the success of Sera’s requested march through Verchiel, and she and Sera had handled the fallout when they’d gone to find the payment at a nearby drop. One dead arsehole later, and they’d returned to the campsite only to have Bull tell Zara about a potential alliance with the Qun, of all things. Once they’d finished things up in Crestwood they’d met the Chargers on the Storm Coast… only for the entire mission to go completely wrong when they’d underestimated enemy numbers—an oversight Zara wasn’t entirely certain was accidental on the part of the detail-oriented Qunari spies. Though they’d lost their chance of an alliance, Zara was grateful the Chargers were still standing. In addition to the bitterness she had yet to let go of after finding out about Mayor Dedrick’s betrayal of the people of Crestwood… she was grateful to be back in Skyhold and not out in the field, to say the least.

            As a stable hand took the reins, Zara removed her saddlebags. _I should see Cullen,_ she thought. _I need to… to…_

            To tell him how she felt? How, whenever he was near, her heart raced in a _good way_ like it hadn’t in a very long time and every ounce of her being wanted to be held in his arms once more? How she adored his smile, lopsided and tugging on that handsome scar of his? How his bashful mannerisms only made her want him more?

            Then, looking down at her armor and realizing she was covered in an alarming amount of mud, she realized she needed a _bath_ far more than she needed to finally express her feelings. No doubt she stank to high heaven of horse and brine yet lingering from the Waking Sea.

            As Zara trudged over to the stairs leading to the upper courtyard, Dorian called out, “Not rushing to see the Commander, my dear?”

            She didn’t answer, instead giving him two fingers as she walked up the steps.

            In the main hall, Zara was rather unfortunately cornered almost immediately by a flustered Josephine.

            “There you are!” the ambassador cried, her writing board noticeably absent. “I was hoping to speak with you, Inquisitor.”

            _So… she’s_ not _angry that I’m a week late?_ “Of course, Josephine.”

            Josephine led her past the nobles who’d gathered to witness the return of the Inquisitor and into her office. She shut the door with a definite _click!_ before leaning heavily against the wood.

            “Is something the matter?” Zara asked. “You look… drained.”

            “I will admit that last several days have been trying,” Josephine replied. “You recall what I told you about the Montilyet’s fortunes?”

            “That your family was banned from trading in Orlais? I remember.” _This sounds ominous._

            “It’s devastated our finances,” the dark-haired ambassador continued. “I had hoped to reinstate us as landed traders and restore what we’d lost but… I dispatched couriers to Val Royeux shortly after you left for Crestwood, hoping to begin the process.” She took a deep breath as though to steady herself. “I received word last week that they were murdered.”

            Zara’s blood ran cold. “Do you have any idea who’s behind it?” _Is this a personal attack against Josephine, or an enemy of the Inquisition? Are they hoping to undermine us?_

            “A nobleman from Val Royeux is claiming to have a lead,” she explained. “However, Comte Boisvert of Val Royeux will only agree to give me the information of he is seen… publically conferring with _you_.”

            She sighed. _A day in the life…_ “Alright, Josephine,” she agreed, rubbing her forehead. “If it helps you get to the bottom of this then I’ll do it.”

            “Oh, Zara, thank you!” Josephine cried, rushing over and taking her hand. Her look of sheer relief was enough to ease Zara’s frustration. “Would you feel comfortable leaving tomorrow?”

            _Giving me almost no time to talk to Cullen,_ she thought in disappointment. _But this matter is too important to put off._ “Certainly.”

            “I’ll make the arrangements immediately,” Josephine babbled, already moving towards her desk.

            With that, Zara turned on her heel and marched out of the office and to her chambers, hating the winding staircase with all of her being. Though after spending nearly a decade in the Circle, she was at least accustomed to climbing ridiculous amounts of stairs on a daily basis.

            After she’d bathed and mentally reviewed her schedule for the rest of the day (blessedly short as she only had to greet the three possible trainers Josephine had brought on to help her in choosing a magical field to specialize in), Zara changed into a clean shirt and trousers. _I’m going to do it,_ she thought, already wondering what she’d say. _I’m going to tell Cullen._

            But, as she walked down the stairs and into the main hall, she felt her confidence slip away with each step she took in the direction of his office. By the time she reached the door at the end of the walkway she felt like her stomach was made of lead and her began hands shake in trepidation.

            _Maker, I’m such a fool!_ she thought. _What if he’s in a meeting? Or what if he just wants to be friends? I certainly wouldn’t be surprised; I’m not relationship material._

            Her hand was raised to knock, but it took all of Zara’s willpower to get her muscles to work. Finally she knocked thrice at the door and waited for a response.

            Nothing.

            _Maybe he’s down at the refugee camps?_

            Just to be certain that he wasn’t in, Zara opened the door and walked inside. The office was empty save for a lone soldier standing near the desk. The woman saluted. “Your Worship,” she said briskly in greeting. “If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to the armory to speak with Seeker Pentaghast.”

            For the second time that day, Zara felt her blood turn to ice as she remembered Cullen telling her he’d asked Cassandra to watch him in the event he had to be… replaced. _Oh Maker! He isn’t…!_

            She didn’t bother to give the soldier a reply. Instead, she bolted to the side door leading in the direction of the upper courtyard. _No, no, no! His last letter said that he was fine! Has he been taking the potion or did he just say that to make me feel better? Is it really that bad? Oh, Maker, if something’s happened…_

            Zara had never run so fast in her life as she did then. Nothing else mattered and her every thought was dedicated to _Cullen_ and making sure he hadn’t yet dropped dead from working himself too hard and making his withdrawals worse as a result.

            She pushed past a group of soldiers standing near the armory door, and several shot her concerned or confused looks. Maker new she probably looked half a mess, hair still wet from her bath and face a mask of anxiety. She took a deep breath before opening the door and was greeted by frustrated arguing when she slipped inside.

            “You asked for my opinion and I’ve given it,” Cassandra said, arms crossed. “Why would you expect it to change?”

            “I expect you to keep your word!” Cullen snapped. It didn’t escape Zara’s notice that he was pacing and that he seemed paler than usual. “It’s relentless. I can’t—”

            Cassandra, it appeared, was having none of it. “You give yourself too little credit.”

            “If I am unable to fulfill what vows I kept then nothing good has come of this,” the Commander replied. “Would you rather save face than admit—?”

            Behind Zara, the door gave a loud whine as it shut and she cursed herself when Cullen’s gazed turned on her. Her heart squeezed painfully at the despair in his eyes, at the pronounced dark circles that hadn’t been _that_ bad when she’d left. She opened her mouth to say something, _anything_ , but it was as if the words wouldn’t form properly.

            Cullen sighed and walked over to the door, taking a moment to murmur, “Forgive me” as he passed Zara.

            He shut the door behind him, leaving Zara and Cassandra alone.

            “I assume Cullen told you he is no longer taking lyrium?” the elder woman asked.

            “Yes,” Zara murmured, moving closer to the fire. Suddenly the room was too cold and she trembled from head to toe. “He trusted your judgement on the matter.”

            Cassandra sighed. “He was not interested in my judgement today. He has recommended that I find a replacement for him.” She paused, looking into the flames. “Mages have always fought against the Chantry’s control and made their suffering known. Templars never have. They have always been bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone keeping a firm hand on their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash; to prove to himself—and all who would follow suit—that it _is_ possible to change. I knew that what we met in Kirkwall and I believe there will never be a better time for Cullen to break free of that life.”

            “Do you think there’s a chance we might be able to change his mind?” Zara asked.

            “I cannot rightly know,” she replied. “He... did not want to risk your disappointment, Inquisitor, and thus did not want you to know he was seeking a replacement. But you are best suited to changing his mind.”

            The mage nodded, staring into the flames after Cassandra bowed and left. _What a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into._

 

* * *

 

            Cullen stared down at the lyrium kit on his desk, trying with all of his being to ignore the violent trembling in his entire body, his churning stomach, and the pounding in his head. Anger, ugly and hot, rose up in his chest the longer he stared at the blighted thing.

            _I’m such a failure,_ he thought. _I can’t keep to my oath if the only thing I can focus on is damn_ lyrium _…_

            His anger—at himself and his fucking withdrawals—grew when he remembered Zara’s face when he’d seen her in the armory. Maker, it broke him to see the blatant anxiety, concern, and, perhaps, disappointment when she’d looked at him then.

            _That’s all I am. A fucking disappointment to the Inquisition and to her. They’re better off with a Commander who isn’t so fucking_ weak _, who can keep to their oaths without being sidetracked by old habits._

            Frustrated at himself and furious at his own body for turning on him, Cullen finally snapped.

            With a shout, he swept the lyrium kit off his desk and sent it flying across the room where it shattered against the door…

            Mere inches from Zara’s face.

            Cullen froze as he met her eyes. Shame welled up where anger had once resided, followed quickly by self-loathing at nearly catching her with the kit. “Maker’s breath!” he cried. “I-I didn’t hear you enter! I…” He trailed off, looking down at the shattered apparatus at her feet. “Forgive me.”

            That didn’t appear to faze Zara. “Cullen,” she said gently, “if you need to talk—”

            He moved around the desk, every ounce of his being that wasn’t in some form of pain wanting to be _near_ after her absence. “You don’t have t—” Suddenly his knees gave out and he caught himself on the edge of the desk.

            Zara was at his side instantly, hand already reaching to steady him. Cullen, however, waved her off out of pride.

            “I never meant for this to interfere,” he murmured in shame, leaning heavily as the world spun violently around him. It hurt more than he cared to admit that she was seeing him like… _this_.

            _Broken._

            “I know that, Cullen,” she replied. Her gaze was piercing, the concern and anxiety there reminding him of another pair of green eyes looking at him in the same way ten years prior…

            _Claws clacking on a stone floor, soft yet unbearably cold hands running through his hair, voices whispering things he wanted but couldn’t give in to._

            _It’s now or never,_ he told himself.

            “You once asked me about Ferelden’s Circle,” he babbled, hating how his voice broke at the horrific memories finally being brought to the surface. “It was taken over by abominations. The Templars—my _friends_ —were slaughtered.”

            He paused, the room finally righting itself, and walked to the window directly behind his desk and running a hand through his hair. “I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I…” He huffed, loathing how _weak_ he felt despite the decade between him and his memories. “How can you be the same person after that?”

            Cullen turned and finally met Zara’s gaze. Her jade eyes sparkled with tears and she covered her mouth with one hand.

            “They sent me to _Kirkwall_ ,” he growled. “I trusted my Knight-Commander and she fanned the flames of my hatred. And for what, hmmm?” Once again, rage welled up in his chest like an angry beast. It was dark and ugly, almost reminding him of the man he once was—the one he swore to leave behind when he’d left the Order. “Her fear of mages ended in madness. Innocent people—mages, Templars, and civilians—died in the streets for it. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?!”

            His shame grew stronger when he saw the tear tracks on her face. Maker knew what she thought of him now, with his past laid out before her. His stomach lurched violently and he felt what little color remained drain from his face. He half expected her to run from the room then and never return.

            Instead Zara lowered her hand and whispered, “Of course I can! I—”

            “ _Don’t_ ,” he interrupted as he moved over to the bookcase, needing with all his being to _move_ so he didn’t feel as trapped. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.” _You, of all people, shouldn’t brush off the atrocities I’ve committed. Why can’t you see that that’s why I joined the Inquisition in the first place: to save lives instead of ruining them?!_ “I thought this would be _better_ , that I would gain some control over my life. But these _thoughts_ won’t leave me!

            “How many lives depend on us?” he blurted, pacing as wildly as his thoughts. “I swore myself to this cause! I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry! I should be taking it!”

            Once again Cullen snapped, slamming his fist into the bookcase with all the strength that remained in him during the weakness of his withdrawals. It shook with the force and sent several tomes falling but he didn’t care; at least the minor pain in his knuckles momentarily distracted him from the blinding headache.

            “I should be taking it.”

            When Zara didn’t answer, Cullen thought that she’d finally left out of disgust at his lack of control. He fought every day, tooth and nail, to ensure that he restrained of that little bit of darkness still festering inside him after everything he’d done to change. His withdrawals made him vulnerable and he despised himself for it. _I can’t blame her if she despises me, too,_ he thought.

            But then she was at his side, a hand on his arm and the gentle scent of lavender soap filling his lungs in a comforting blanket. “Hang the Inquisition,” she said quietly. “Is this what _you_ want?”

            He looked up at her in surprise; her tears had stopped at least, and the sadness in her expression was replaced with that determined fire he saw so often when they were at the war table. _Is that what I…?_

            “No,” he croaked. “But… these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I cannot endure this…”

            There was a brief moment where Cullen feared she would tell him the risk was too great, that he should take the lyrium and perform his duties without distraction. But then Zara cradled his face in her hands, hands so soft and gentle it broke his heart. “You can,” she murmured.     

            _You have far more confidence in me that I do,_ Cullen thought. _But it will have to be enough for now._ He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Alright.”

            They stood like that for a long while, saying nothing and eyes meeting. He desperately wanted to kiss her then.

            Finally Zara removed her hands and took a step back. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Josephine and I are leaving for Val Royeux tomorrow. Will you be alright while I’m gone?”

            His heart lurched painfully and he wanted to ask that she stay. But the words couldn’t form; all he managed was a brief, “I believe so.”

            Zara nodded. “O-okay,” she stammered, running a hand through the dark mass of her hair. “I’ll have your schedule cleared for today and ask for something to be sent from the kitchens. I’ll also ask one of the servants to clean up that kit and have it destroyed.”

            _Why is she so good to me?_ he wondered as his stomach flip-flopped. _Is she repaying me for when I comforted her?_ “You don’t have to—”

            “Please, Cullen,” she interjected. “For my sake, please just… _don’t_. I need to know that you’re going to be fine. This, at least, might put me at ease for a little while.”

            He sighed in defeat. “Very well.”

            She nodded, wiping at the remainder of her tears. “Thank you.”

            As she turned to leave Cullen grabbed her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yes? Before you leave?”

            Zara looked over her shoulder at him and gave a gentle smile. “Of course, Cullen.”

            With that, he released her hand and Zara walked out of his office. _Maker, what have I done to deserve her kindness?_ he thought, sitting in the chair behind his desk with a groan. After everything he’d admitted she still wanted to be around him… That in and of itself was a miracle beyond what he could have ever dreamed of.

            Cullen opened one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a small silver coin with Andraste’s likeness beaten into the metal. Though the markings had faded considerably in the years since Branson had given it to him, they were still distinct and offered the comfort of memories of simpler times.

            Maybe, just _maybe_ , the damned thing was lucky after all.

 

* * *

 

            Zara _hated_ confined spaces. Especially being subjected to confined spaces for great lengths of time.

            Which was why, by the time she and Josephine had returned to Skyhold a week after they left Val Royeux, she practically begged the Maker to send a high dragon so she wouldn’t have to spend another damn hour in a blighted _carriage_.

            _I’m not meant to be nobility,_ she thought as she scrubbed a hand down her face.

            “Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked for the sixth time that day.

            “I’m _fine_ , Josie,” Zara practically growled, plucking a strand of horsehair from her dark blue skirt and fidgeting with the sleeve of her white blouse. _Anything to keep me distracted._ “I just… don’t like confined spaces.”

            “We should be back in Skyhold within the hour,” she reassured her. “Then we can begin the process of procuring the necessary favors.”

            Sadly, Josephine lied. Two hours after their conversation they finally, _finally_ arrived back at the keep. Zara bolted out of the carriage before it came to a complete stop without bothering to grab her cloak and took a deep, steadying breath to calm her nerves. _Never again,_ she promised herself. _Never again am I riding in a stupid carriage!_

            A gaggle of nobles had gathered in the bailey to witness their return, but Zara paid them no mind as a messenger approached her. “Your Worship,” he greeted her. “Commander Cullen wished me to inform you that Mayor Dedrick of Crestwood was located while you were away and is awaiting trial in the cells.”

            “Excellent,” Zara replied, relieved that the bastard had finally been found. “Send word to the guards there that I want him brought to the main hall in a half hour for judgement.”

            “Yes, Inquisitor,” the messenger said with a bow before running in the direction of Skyhold’s dungeons.

            “Josephine,” she said as the ambassador exited the carriage, “can you be ready in a half hour for Dedrick’s trial?”

            She sighed. “Of course. Do you wish to confer with the other advisors to discuss possible sentences?”

            “That won’t be necessary, Ambassador,” Zara said gently. “I already have suitable punishments in mind.”

            As they walked up the steps to the main hall, she heard Josephine mutter under her breath, “It never ends.” Zara found that she couldn’t agree more.

            A half hour later, Zara took the throne at the head of the main hall. The rage she’d felt in Crestwood upon finding the mayor’s letter rose up in her chest once more when the man in question was brought forward by two guardsmen. Though he hung his head in shame, he passionately defended his decision to drown half the village.

            _Maker, if he tries to justify it one more time I’m having_ him _drowned,_ she thought with a huff. Josephine glanced at her with a cocked eyebrow, obviously expecting Zara to do just that.

            “What you have done is inexcusable,” she snarled once he was done. “The people of Crestwood trusted you with their lives and you betrayed them—probably to save your own skin from the Blight. Mayor Dedrick, you have committed crimes against the people of Ferelden and so you will live out the remainder of your days behind bars in Denerim.”

            With that, the trial concluded and Dedrick was led back to the cells to await his relocation to Denerim. Zara stood from her throne and cast a glance about the room. Part of her had hoped to find Cullen amongst the hundred or so souls who’d gathered to witness the trial of the disgraced mayor. Sadly, she couldn’t find him among the crowd.

            She’d written him when she’d arrived in Val Royeux to let him know she’d gotten there safely and to ask if his withdrawals had improved at all. His reply had been brief, but he assured her that his condition had improved considerably since that day. Of course, that had done little to ease her worry over him. She was disappointed that she’d had to put off confessing her feelings, yet because of the delay all of her courage following her talk with Cal had faded.

            Leliana was at her side then. “Cullen is on the battlements, if you were looking for him.”

            “How did you—?”

            “It’s my job, remember?” Leliana chirped with a smile. “I’ll help Josephine with the favors for the Du Paraquettes in the meanwhile. You go check in on him; he was eager to speak with you once you returned.”

            “Thank you,” Zara said softly before she walked down the steps of the dais and through the main hall, dodging nobles left and right and the only thing she could focus on was _him_.

 

* * *

 

            Cullen took a deep breath as he looked over the battlements, loving the feeling of the icy air filling his lungs. It was refreshing compared to how stuffy his office or even the war room became after a time.

            He felt a smile tug at his lips when he heard soft footsteps approaching. They weren’t the heavy booted steps of soldiers or the frantic pace of the messengers, but soft, measured footfalls like someone keeping time with the beat of unheard music.

            Turning, he saw Zara stop a few feet from him. Her hair and skirt fluttered in the breeze, bringing with it the faint smell of lavender soap and elfroot. He had rehearsed that morning what he was going to say; thanking her for bringing him back from the brink and so on, yet when she approached his mind drew a blank.

            “I wanted to thank you,” he began in a rush. “When you came to see me… If there’s anything…” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “This sounded much better in my head.”

            Her lips curved in a smile. “I trust you’re feeling better?” she asked.

            “I…” he began hesitantly. _Am I?_ The worst of his withdrawals had passed two days after Zara had left, and since then he’d only had minor aches in his joints and head. “Yes.” He sighed, knowing there was no point in lying to her any longer. “The pain comes and goes, but sometimes I feel as though I’m back _there_. I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

            “I’m just glad you’re alright,” she murmured, shuffling closer. She glanced between him and the stones underfoot anxiously. Was there something on her mind or was she… _afraid_ now that she knew of his past?

            He decided to act as though nothing had changed. “I am.”

            As he turned to look out over the battlements once more and Zara moved to his side. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, though in their case shoulder-to-cheek since she was so much shorter than he. Their fingers brushed and Cullen desperately wanted to hold her hand like he had the day she left for Crestwood, remembering how right it felt there.

            But he didn’t.

            “I’ve never told anyone what happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle,” he found himself babbling. “I was… not myself after that. I was angry.” _An understatement, to be sure,_ he thought. “For years that anger blinded me. I… I’m not proud of the man that made me…” _Tell her. Tell her now._ “The way I saw mages… I’m not sure I would have cared about you, and the thought of that… _sickens_ me.”

            It was out in the open then, and there was no taking it back. Cullen felt a blush rise to his cheeks at his admission but, surprisingly, he felt no shame. His hands shook almost violently in nervousness, and so he gripped the pommel of his sword. _Thank the Maker I didn’t leave it in my office._

            Cullen turned to look at her, taking in how her eyes were wide in shock and how her cheeks were several shades darker as she blushed.

            Instead of waiting for her reply, he continued, “Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start.”

            A long silence followed. Cullen silently worried that she would say she wasn’t interested in him, that she wanted to continue merely as friends or colleagues. After all the atrocities he’d committed against mages— _her_ people—he wouldn’t have been surprised if she could no longer trust him to be near her, let alone _with_ her. _Maker, I’m a fool,_ he thought. _I shouldn’t have said anything._

            But then Zara murmured, so softly he barely heard it over the wind, “For what it’s worth, I like who you are now.”

            He worried for half a second that his heart had stopped. _She…?_ He turned to her, eyes wide in disbelief. “Even after…?”

            She moved that much closer and gently laid a delicate hand on his arm. “Cullen, I care for you. You’ve done _nothing_ to change that.”

            “But what I did—”

            With her other hand, she tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Again, changes nothing. I’ve spent enough time in the Circle to have heard of some of the things that happened in Ferelden and Kirkwall. That you were honest with me and admitted to it only does you credit.”

            “You knew?!” he pressed, brow creasing. “So in Haven when you asked me if I was a Templar and my opinion of mages, about if I served in Kirkwall…?”

            “I had heard rumors,” she explained. “There was only one Knight-Captain in Kirkwall, Cullen, and I didn’t know the extent of the things you’d seen in Ferelden. But I thought, with enough time, you might at least admit to some of it; which you did and then some. None of that changes my regard for you. I can see that you’re working to change, to atone. Many of the others are doing similar—myself included—and so I cannot judge you for that.”

            Cullen was struck by the gentle conviction of her tone. Of _course_ she’d known. She was a mage of considerable rank, and would have come into contact with mages visiting from other Circles—Kirkwall included. He, out of anyone, knew how fast word could spread amongst people, _especially_ mages.

            “I…” he stammered. “I… don’t know what to say.”

            She only smiled in return, so achingly beautiful in the afternoon sun in broke his heart. He found he had no more words left in him and so they stood there for the longest time in companionable silence watching the horizon.

 

* * *

 

            _I need to have Morris requisition some amrita vein seeds,_ Zara thought as she worked in Skyhold’s garden the day after she’d returned from Val Royeux. _Perhaps if I use the roots in Cullen’s potion it might accelerate the treatment considerably._

            Working with plants for alchemical purposes was one of the things Zara found herself missing from her time in the Circle now that she spent so much of her time focusing on her duties as Inquisitor. She’d spent some of her free time in the Circle growing herbs necessary for her experiments, as she found it to be therapeutic for her nerves in addition to being useful for understanding the workings of the plants she needed. She also took no small amount of joy in watching her handiwork literally blossom over time. Now that repairs had been completed in Skyhold’s garden, she hoped to return to that hobby more often.

            She wiped at the sweat beading on her brow, grinning as she looked over the space that was _hers_ and not the general property of the Circle as a whole.

            A messenger ran through the door to the main hall and stopped several feet from her as he caught his breath and awaited her acknowledgement. “Yes?” she asked. She didn’t stand.

            “The mages from the Ostwick Circle have arrived, Inquisitor,” he said quickly. “They’re awaiting you at the gate.”

            _Karimah!_ she thought, breaking out into a grin. _Gareth!_

            “Thank you,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even despite her excitement. “You’re dismissed.”

            As the messenger turned and ran away to deliver whatever other messages needed running, Zara hurriedly removed her thick leather gloves and wiped at the smudges undoubtedly covering her face from working in the dirt most of the afternoon. Part of her knew she should change and make herself presentable—it wouldn’t do for the Inquisitor to greet her allies covered in dirt—but the other part of her was far too excited to see her best friends after their months apart.

            She hastily made her way through the main hall and down the steps leading to the upper courtyard, and from there to the bailey. A large group of about sixty mages stood around, heads turning to take in everything around them. Her advisors were speaking with a thin, balding man who looked to be in his mid-sixties. _The First Enchanter._

            Zara came to a stop beside Josephine, who muttered to her under her breath, “Why are you covered in _dirt_ , Inquisitor?”

            “I was working in the garden and didn’t have time to change,” she hissed before giving First Enchanter Armistead a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again, First Enchanter.”

            “The honor is mine, Senior Encha… _Inquisitor_ ,” he replied with a bow. “You were kind to extend your offer of alliance to the mages of Ostwick.”

            “The alliance is intended for all mages regardless of their stance in the rebellion,” Zara said. She glanced surreptitiously at the group behind the First Enchanter in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her friends. _Where are they?_

            Armistead smiled as he took notice of her distraction. “Please, Trevelyan, don’t let me keep you from greeting the others. I’m expected in a meeting with your ambassador and Grand Enchanter Fiona, anyway.”

            “I…” Zara began, but didn’t finish as someone ran into her full-force and wrapped her in a hug.

            “I missed you,” Karimah said, hugging her tighter and thick ebony locks blowing into Zara’s face from the wind.

            She grinned ear-to-ear like an idiot. “I was only gone for five months!”

            “That’s five months too long,” she replied. “I’ve had to put up with Gareth’s whining all by myself since you left.”

            “I wasn’t _that_ bad!” the elf in question put in as he pushed his way through the crowd. His rust-colored _vallaslin_ stood out against his tanned skin as he broke into a toothy smile.

            “Yes you were,” Karimah said, letting Zara go so she and Gareth could hug.

            “It’s good to see you again, my friend,” Zara said as he pulled her close.

            “Likewise,” Gareth murmured, Dalish brogue a familiar comfort from simpler times. “How’ve you been, _lethallin_? You never really say in your letters.”

            “Better,” she replied as they separated. It didn’t escape her notice that he avoided calling her _vhenan_ like when they’d parted all those months ago. “I’ve… had help.” She smiled faintly as she remembered Cullen’s warm gaze and comforting presence the night she’d run to his office and when she’s awoken in his arms after Satinalia.

            Gareth winked, earthy brown eyes glittering mischievously. “Karimah mentioned something about your Commander.”

            Karimah smacked Gareth’s arm. “Not here! Maker, Gareth, didn’t your clan ever teach you discretion?”

            “Oh, c’mon!” he bemoaned. “You can’t expect me _not_ to ask when she’s told us so little!”

            “Later,” Zara promised. “I’m training for the rest of the day but I’ll tell you all about it over drinks tonight in the tavern.”

            “Fine,” both mages sighed, and with Zara left for the upper courtyard where Cassandra and Vivienne were waiting.

            Four hours later, after Zara had bathed and changed into a fresh shirt and trousers, her muscles sore from practicing melee combat with her staff, she met the two in the tavern. They were seated at a table in the back corner, already deep in their cups by the time she sat down with a mug of ale in hand.

            “So,” Karimah said quietly, raising a delicate brow and a wide grin splitting her copper-skinned face. “Tell us all about your dashing Commander. What’s his name? Cullen? I wish you’d have told me just how handsome he is! Maker, those eyes! That _voice_!”

            She laughed at that, though a blush running up her neck as she thought about Cullen’s warm amber gaze meeting hers over the war table or the deep rumble of his voice when he teased her during their chess matches. “Yes,” Zara murmured, pausing to take a sip of her ale. “We met the first time I tried to seal the Breach. Past the forward camp there was a rift where he and a several soldiers were fighting demons. Once it was sealed it Cassandra introduced us. After that we would speak at war councils or during meetings but it wasn’t until after I spoke to the clerics in Val Royeux that we spoke more often and were on friendlier terms.”

            “He’s a Templar, right?” Gareth asked, raising an eyebrow. “He has the temperament of one.”

            “He served in… in Kirkwall actually,” she said slowly. “He was the Knight-Captain.”

            Both were silent, their mouths hanging open in shock.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Karimah snapped. She pitched her voice low so nearby tables couldn’t hear—a habit learned in the Circle. “Katherine was one thing but… The actual fucking _Knight-Captain of Kirkwall_?! Meredith Stannard’s second-in-fucking-command?!”

            “I know it _sounds_ stupid!” Zara hissed, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. “Believe me, I questioned his loyalty to the Inquisition when I first found out he’d served in Kirkwall, and later when I started having feelings for him. But… he left the Order. He’s using the Inquisition to atone for what he’s done.”

            Karimah put her head in her hands in frustration. “I can’t believe you, _of all people_ , are saying this.”

            “Oh, shut up,” Gareth sighed. “If he was lying about using this as an opportunity to atone he’d have left the Inquisition when she recruited the mages.”

            Zara cocked a brow. “I’m surprised to hear _you_ say that.”

            He shrugged, and she noticed for the first time that his tawny hair had grown past his shoulders since they’d last seen each other. “If he’s good enough for you, that’ll have to be good enough for me,” he said easily. “You don’t give in to your feelings—especially romantic ones—that easily. I trust your judgement, _lethallin_.”

            Karimah sighed and angrily sipped her beer. After several moments she said, “Fine. But if he screws you over he’s going to have to answer to _me_.”

            “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zara said through her laughter.

            “Well look who it is!” a deep, booming voice cried. Iron Bull pushed his way through the crowd and took the seat at Zara’s right, his bulk leaving little extra room on their side of the table. “I didn’t expect to find you in the tavern, Boss. Usually you’re holed up in your tower around this time doing paperwork.”

            “We made her come,” Karimah said easily. “It’s been too long since we’ve been able to relax—Zara in particular.”

            “Yeah, her advisors need to let up a little,” Bull replied with a shrug. “But then again, the Inquisition would probably fall apart if any of them slept over five hours.” He nudged Zara’s shoulder with a massive forearm. “Maybe you and Cullen could help each other with that department, Boss.”

            Zara felt her cheeks heat in response. “I’m not—!”

            “Aw, c’mon!” Sera put in as she slid into the seat at the end of the table. “Everyone knows you’ve got it bad for Commander Uptight!”

            “Wait, are we talking about Frosty and Curly?!” Varric asked, scurrying over to their table with a mug in hand.

            “I believe so,” Blackwall replied. He sat beside Bull with a wry grin. “You should’ve seen his face when Zara returned from the Fallow Mire and she told him she read his letter every morning. I thought they were both set to explode from embarrassment.”

            “Does _everyone_ know about how I feel for him?!” Zara cried, face hot from shame.

            “Yes,” the group chimed in unison.

            “According to Ruffles it’s the bronto in the room during every war council,” Varric explained easily.

            She groaned and laid her head in her arms. The worn wood smelled of stale alcohol. “I’m doomed.”

            “It’s okay, Zara,” Cal said as she pulled up a chair beside her and patting her shoulder. “You’ll get it out eventually.”

            “Pfft,” Sera giggled. “As if. He’s too much of a tight arse to do anything but stare at her butt when he thinks she ain’t lookin’.” She gasped, an idea obviously striking her. “What if you stripped naked and ran through his office _right now_?! That’d send the message!”

            “Sera!” Zara snapped, looking up to glare at the elf.

            “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Blackwall said. “At least, not for this situation.”

            “I guess,” Sera said with a pout. “But it’d be funnier than shite, with your lady bits all hangin’ out!” She looked down at the bottle of booze in her hand and muttered, “I know _I_ want to see ‘em.”

            “The point is,” Karimah interjected, “you’re only making yourself more miserable the longer you avoid talking to him about how you feel. You’ll never know if he feels the same unless you speak up.”

            “ _Anaan_!” Bull cried, holding his drink aloft in a toast.

            The door opened and Zara turned to look at who had arrived. Her cheeks heated when she saw Dorian leading an irritated Cullen by the arm through the crowd and towards their table. “Look who I found!” the Tevinter cried with a mischievous grin.

            Shouts of excitement and welcome rose from the others at the table, but Zara found that her voice wouldn’t cooperate. _Maker help me…_ Dorian took the seat to the left of Cal and Cullen sat beside Varric.

            “ _Now_ it’s a party!” Cal said excitedly. “All we need now some awful foreign booze, a deck of cards, and a strip bet!”

            “Way ahead of you, Hawke,” Varric replied, waving his hand easily. “I ordered a couple bottles of Rivaini rum and that Tevinter brandy everyone seems to be so taken with.”

            “Like that’s going to get us Ostwick mages drunk!” Gareth dismissed. “Dwarven ale or go home!”

            Bull let out a booming laugh. “Wait ‘til you try _maraas-lok_. That stuff’ll put you on your ass in no time!”

            Zara raised an eyebrow when Gareth smirked. “You’re on!”

            _This isn’t going to end well._

 

* * *

 

            Cullen wasn’t one for parties or crowds. But sitting at the table with Zara and her companions in the tavern that night felt… good.

            _Right_ whenever he met Zara’s eyes from across the table.

            Most everyone was in some state of inebriation—himself included. He was loathe to admit it, but he was secretly glad Dorian had insisted he “cut loose” and half-dragged him to the tavern.

            Gareth had passed out halfway through his drinking contest with Bull and snored against the stained wood of the table, much to everyone’s amusement. The entire group had worked their way through the rum Varric ordered and it seemed to make everyone’s tongues a little looser.

            “Riddle me this, Frosty,” Varric said to Zara. Her cheeks were flushed from drinking in a way they hadn’t been that the night of Satinalia when they’d sat in his office. _What did she say? That drinking dwarven ale gives you a certain tolerance to most other spirits?_ “Why is it that alchemy is such a prized subject of study in the Circles?”

            “Contraceptives,” she replied immediately.

            The dwarf sputtered and set down his drink. “I beg your pardon?”

            She smiled knowingly. “Contraceptives,” she repeated. “Mages of the Circle are forbidden from having children under Chantry law. If they do, the child is taken away from them at birth to be raised in the Chantry and sent to a different Circle if they show signs of magic. To avoid that alchemists make contraceptives for the rest of the Circle, and so their craft is valued more than others. The only other profession considered more important is healing.”

            “So in order to avoid conceiving children you just… hand out herbal remedies?” Cal asked. “No payment or anything?”

            “With what coin?” Karimah countered. “Mages don’t get paid for their work.”

            “Fair point,” the apostate conceded.

            Cullen set down his drink. “That explains a lot, actually,” he said. “It was rare for alchemists to move Circles once they’d passed their Harrowing.”

            “Exactly,” Zara agreed with a smile. “After I’d been named enchanter, First Enchanter Armistead was bombarded with requests that I visit other Circles to assist them.”

            “So the Circle is a bit like the Qun,” Bull reasoned. “No marriage, no kids, and your entire life is dedicated to the purpose you serve for the benefit of your Circle.”

            “If you want to look at it that way,” said Karimah. “But under the Qun you’re allowed to have children if you’re given permission, right? That’s a bit different from being outright forbidden.”

            “Wait, so what’s it like shacking up in the Circle if you say it’s like the Qun?” Bull asked. “Madame Vivienne still won’t answer my question and I’m dyin’ to know.”

            Cullen felt heat rise to his cheeks, and not just from the drink.  _What’s it like…?!_

            The two (conscious) Ostwick mages exchanged glances and shrugged in unison.

            “Sex isn’t exactly _encouraged_ ,” Zara explained, her words slightly slurred. “Circles _were_ under Chantry control and supervision, after all, and they teach that promiscuous sex is a kind of sin—desire or pride or whatever, I never paid attention during the sermons that I actually attended. But the way most mages look at it, it’s just… I don’t know. It’s sex. You can be exclusive or you can be promiscuous; no one really cares all that much. The only problem is you can’t take your time.”

            “Why’s tha’?” Sera asked, voice heavily slurred as she wobbled dangerously in her seat. “Isn’t tha’ what sex is all about?”

            Karimah shook her head. “Not for mages. Templars constantly patrolled the Circle, so if you wanted to have sex you had to find a broom closet or empty classroom or just a really dark corner and do it fast so you don’t get caught.”

            Bull cocked a brow. “So none of you have ever taken your time? No kinky stuff?”

            Zara laughed, the sound full and beautiful to Cullen’s ears. After she’d quieted she said with a wink, “Oh, there was _definitely_ kinky stuff. You just had to be quick and, most importantly, quiet.”

            Cullen felt his face grow hotter. Already his mind was racing with images of him pressing Zara against a wall in a quiet alcove in the castle, his teeth hurriedly biting her neck as he slid his hand into her trousers. He imagined all the lovely noises she’d make as he pleasured her: gentle sighs as he circled her clit and muffled groans against his neck when he pressed a finger inside her…

            _Maker’s breath!_ he thought, shame rising in his chest. _I need to stop…_

            “I’d watch yourself, Frosty,” Varric said, sitting back in his chair with a grin. “I think you’re embarrassing Curly over there.”

            “Are Templars always this prudish?” Dorian pressed. “Because in Tevinter—”

            “Fine, fine,” Zara said. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the Commander’s evening by talking about the sexual exploits of southern mages.” She winked at him over her glass.

            Cullen sputtered in embarrassment. “I-I’m not—!”

            Before he could finish, the barkeep announced last call. (Much to his relief.) Cullen glanced around and noticed that the tavern was mostly empty save for their table and a few people lingering at the bar.

            “C’mon,” Varric said, moving to scrape Sera off the floor, where she’d fallen immediately after Varric noticed Cullen’s embarrassment. “We don’t want to risk the wrath of Cabot tonight.”

            Everyone murmured in agreement, standing and wishing each other a good evening. Karimah shook Gareth awake and helped him stumble his way towards the door, much to the amusement of a very drunk Bull.

            As they moved outside to go their separate ways, Cullen found himself falling in step with Zara. After their talk on the battlements the previous day, Cullen found himself wishing more and more to finally, _finally_ tell her the extent to which he cared. Knowing she at least _cared_ for him was enough to make his chest feel light and plaster a grin on his face every time he remembered how their hands had brushed when she’d stood beside him.

            _Tell her!_ a voice said in the back of his mind. _Tell her now, before you lose your courage for good!_ But whether it was courage or the amount he’d had to drink, he couldn’t tell.

            “So, uhhh…” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck when she turned and met his gaze.  Her eyes were bright in the darkness. “T-there’s… Ummm… I-I—”

            But before he could find the words to continue, Dorian shouldered his way between them. “My dear Inquisitor, wasn’t there something you wished to discuss with me today? Or did you forget because of the arrival of the Ostwick mages?”

            _Damn it!_ Cullen thought bitterly. _Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

            Zara gasped. “Shit, I completely forgot about that! Why don’t you wait for me in the library while Cullen and I finish talking?”

            “Certainly,” the Tevinter mage said with a bow.

            When they were once again alone, Cullen found his courage had bled away.

            “What did you want to say, Cullen?” Zara asked.

            He shook his head. “I… It’s nothing, Zara. I’ll see you at the war council tomorrow.” And with that, he turned on his heel and hurriedly retreated back to his office, hating himself the entire way for being such a damn coward when it came to his emotions regarding Zara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my oxygen. <3
> 
> I keep forgetting, but there are two absolutely gorgeous pieces of art for Zara. [The first is a bust by trashwarden](http://trashwarden.tumblr.com/post/138994063723/lovely-zara-trevelyan) (it's my icon), and the second [is a sketch by Elena Kim](http://seniorenchantertrevelyan.tumblr.com/post/146756415722/tiny-zara-trevelyan-is-tiny-sketch-by-elena-kim)! Both are incredibly talented and you should totally check out their work if you have the chance!


	13. On the Battlements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone eventually gives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all know what time it is ;)

            Zara desperately tried to pay attention to Josephine’s briefing, but she was finding herself more and more distracted with each passing moment. _C’mon, you owe her that much at least. She’s been through a lot._

            Five and half weeks after they’d returned from Val Royeux, Zara and Josephine’s efforts to elevate the Du Paraquettes had paid off. The string of favors they’d performed to expedite the process had somehow worked and the newly-named nobility rescinded the contract on Josephine’s life; she was finally safe, or safe as she could be with an insane darkspawn magister on the loose. Now they could focus on finding a way to save Empress Celene’s life from the would-be assassins Corypheus would still undoubtedly send. Josephine had managed to get the attention of Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons—in no small part because of their much-talked about alliance with the rebel mages—and so they finally had a way into the masquerade and peace talks at Halamshiral.

            But Zara found she couldn’t focus on that. Instead, her mind wandered to a discussion with Dorian three weeks earlier. 

* * *

 

            _Zara glared at the fire before her, anger roiling in her gut the longer she thought about Dorian’s father, Magister Halward Pavus. After their meeting with the “family retainer” in Redcliffe village they’d returned to the crossroads for the night, where they’d be joined the next morning by Bull and Cole. Zara had received reports of a high dragon that had moved into the area and requested their assistance in slaying the beast—the last thing the refugees needed was a high dragon in the area, causing further unnecessary trouble._

I should go back and freeze the magister to the floor, _she thought bitterly._ Or maybe use him as bait for the high dragon. Maker knows he deserves worse.

_“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so furious, my dear,” Dorian said easily as he sat next to her. “Well, aside from when we found the letter of confession from Crestwood’s mayor.”_

_She made a noise of agreement. “I know he’s your father, but the man is a bastard.”_

_“You don’t have to tell_ me _that.” He took a swig from his flask. “Thank you, by the way.”_

_“For what?” she asked, looking up from the fire._

_“For what you said,” he replied. “What he did was unforgivable, but at least we both got our issues laid out on the table. I don’t think I would have been able to do that on my own.”_

_Zara chuckled darkly, “Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty good at letting people know what you think.”_

_“Not always,” the Tevinter sighed, eyes distant._

_Both were silent, their gazes turned toward the fire. Dorian passed her the flask and she took a pull. The bitter burn of brandy in her throat felt surprisingly cathartic._

_“You should take your own advice, you know,” Dorian said after a while._

_She cocked a brow at him. “What do you mean?”_

_“You’ll only regret it if you leave things hanging with Cullen,” he explained. “I know I’m the last person to give romantic advice—I’ve never been ‘officially’ tied to anyone in a romantic way for obvious reasons—but you appear to be desperate. So do yourself a favor and speak up, darling. You’ll never get past this ‘what are we?’ stage if you don’t… What was the phrase you used? ‘Let people know what you think.’”_

_The two were quiet after that, giving Zara no shortage of time to mull over his words. He was right, of course, and he damn well knew it. But that didn’t mean her stubbornness wasn’t going to get in the way as it always did—Circle mages were notorious for being creatures of habit, after all._

_But then, how could she know his feelings if she never pressed the issue? Yes, there had been times when she’d blurted half-flirtations—during their chess game for example, or that conversation they’d had walking from chantry to her cottage back in Haven—but his responses had been… lukewarm. Was he nervous, or was it something else?_

_“I’ll see you in the morning,” she muttered, standing and stalking over to her tent for the night. But she knew that sleep would be in short measure with her thoughts racing so frantically._  

* * *

 

            Oh, how Zara tried to take the mage’s advice. In the three weeks since their conversation she’d tried seven or eight times to scrounge up what remained of her courage and had gone to Cullen’s office with the intention of finally, _finally_ telling him. But each time she made it to his door, her courage disappeared like morning mist in afternoon sunlight.

            So instead, she sat in his office with him talking about their lives—their families, their pasts, how their days had been. Sometimes they both caught up on paperwork, too busy to be completely distracted. They sometimes played chess if they needed a more potent distraction from the preparations for the Orlesian ball. Each time she found herself staring when he wasn’t looking, wishing to know what if felt like to kiss him and wanting desperately to be held in his arms once more.

            There had been one night the previous week when his withdrawals had acted up, and so she’d sat (mostly) in silence as he spoke more in-depth about his experience in the Fereldan Circle. When he’d finished speaking after nearly an hour, mumbling an apology and his golden eyes only just revealing his trepidation about speaking of his tormented past to her, she merely laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and murmured, “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Cullen. And I appreciate that you were willing to share what happened with me.” Unlike her, who still kept what happened that night nine years ago, when the darkness closed in as her blood pooled on the floor, a complete secret to all but a few.

            “Inquisitor?” Josephine asked, pulling Zara from her reverie. “Are you alright?”

            “Hmmm?” Zara mumbled, giving herself a mental shake. “Y-yes, Josephine. I’m just thinking about…” _About Cullen’s eyes looking at me over the chessboard, about the scar on his lip, about how fucking_ beautiful _and sweet he is._ “About paperwork I need to catch up.” Not a complete lie.

            “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, gathering her own papers. “Yes, I can imagine. Have you had a chance to review Leliana’s intelligence on the key leaders who will be attending the talks at Halamshiral?”

            “Not yet,” she admitted sadly. “I’ve had so much to work on I’ve barely even had a chance to glance over it.”

            She noticed the ambassador cast a discrete glance at the mountainous pile of paperwork on Zara’s desk. “Then don’t let me keep you, Inquisitor. And thank you again for helping resolve that business with the House of Repose.”

            “Anytime, Josephine,” Zara said. “I’ll see you at the war council this evening.”

            As Josephine walked down the stairs, Zara waited until she’d heard the door shut behind her to heave a sigh and lay her head in her hands. _Maker, I’m a wreck,_ she thought. _I can’t focus on my damn job because of him. This… this is worse than when I was infatuated with Kat._

            At least when she’d had feelings for Kat she’d been able to work, to do her duty to the Circle.

            _Maybe that’s because I’m more than just smitten with him,_ she thought. _Maybe I’m… falling in love?_ She made a sound of annoyance, glancing at the pile of paperwork and resolving to work through it until she was needed at the war council. _No, no that can’t be it. I’ve only known him for five, six months. Maybe it’s just…_

            But then Zara thought about his smile, his laugh. The way his golden gaze was so soft and, just _maybe_ , affectionate whenever he looked at her. She thought about how he listened so attentively when she spoke. She thought about how she adored it when he became flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush rose to his cheeks. She thought about the warm weight of his hand in her own, how during their chess games their bare fingers would occasionally brush and how it would send her thoughts spiraling into an endless barrage of what it would be like to finally _be with him_ as more than a friend. She thought about the letters they’d sent back and forth when she’d been in Crestwood and again when she’d left for the Hinterlands with Dorian, how he’d worried for her safety and reassured her of his own. She remembered the day she’d returned and told him about how she’d fought a high dragon—the fear as he’d asked her if she’d been injured followed immediately by a look of unadulterated pride when she’d told him no and recounted the fight in detail.

            She heaved a sigh. _No. I’m definitely falling for him. And have been for a long time—perhaps longer than I realize._

            For half a moment she considered getting up right that second and marching down to his office to tell him just that. But then it was gone in the blink of an eye; she had paperwork to catch up on, and great deal of it at that.

            But the longer she attempted to work, the more she noticed that she got nothing done. Mid-morning turned into early afternoon but Zara had been staring at the same sentence the entire time—the opening greeting in a letter from King Bhelen Aeducan of Orzamar expressing his gratitude at the alliance with the Inquisition. But she was too distracted to glean exact wording as her mind kept turning to a certain golden-haired commander.

            “Fuck it,” she hissed, tossing the letter aside. There was no getting work done when she needed to finally take her friends’ advice. _I’m only making myself more miserable the longer I avoid confronting it._

            As she hurriedly descended the winding staircase leading to the main hall, holding her dark green skirt away from her slippered feet so as not to trip, she mentally recited what she was going to tell Cullen.

            _I care for you—more than I had ever thought I would. You’re the bravest, kindest man I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. Around you I feel like I can be myself, not the Inquisitor or just another mage. You’ve made me feel… happy, in a way that I haven’t felt in a very long time. Like you’re the one good thing in the middle of so much darkness and destruction. I know you might not feel the same as I do but I hope…_

            Zara’s feet and racing thoughts came to a screeching halt when she came to the door of Cullen’s office. She stared at the worn wood for several moments, hands trembling in the chilly afternoon air more so out of anxiety than cold.

            She huffed and turned on her heel. _I can’t do it,_ she thought with a frown. _Maker help me, I can’t._

            Halfway across the walkway leading to the rotunda she willed herself to turn around, but when she came to the door she once again had a change of heart. She repeated this five more times, her anxiety mounting with each step she made towards his office and with each she took away from it. The sixth time she walked away she made it as far as the main hall before she froze.

            _No!_ she thought, hands tightening into fists. _No, I will not be a coward! I’ve confronted demons, a high dragon, and a darkspawn magister along with his pet Archdemon. I will not deny myself this one chance to be happy._ Zara turned around, ignoring the nobles shooting her confused glances. _I have to do it. I_ have _to. And if he doesn’t feel the same then at least I got my feelings out in the open and I can move on from there._

            With that objective clear in mind, she marched herself to the door of his office once more and knocked thrice upon the wood. Her heart was in her throat the entire time. _What if he isn’t in? What if he’s in a meeting with Rylen or Josephine or Leliana? What if—_

            “Enter,” Cullen said from the other side, obviously expecting a runner or one of the other advisors’ messengers judging from his official—if gruff—tone.

            Zara opened the door and slipped inside. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Cullen, who stood near the bookcase as he looked for some tome or another, glanced over his shoulder when the door shut behind her. He raised an eyebrow. “Zara!” he said. “I-Is there something I can help you with?”

            She wasn’t surprised at his shock that she was there; she usually showed up to his office late in the evenings, never this early since they both had their respective duties to attend to. “I, uhhh…” she stammered, shifting from foot to foot nervously. She thought she might immolate from embarrassment. “Yes, well, ummm… I-I was wondering if we might speak.” She paused to gather up the scraps of her composure, unable to meet his warm honey gaze longer than a few heartbeats. “Alone.”

            “A-alone?!” Cullen repeated, cheeks redder than his cloak. “I-I, ummm, I mean of course.”

            She moved to the side door leading to the southwest wall above the main gate and Cullen followed. They walked along the battlements in silence, and Zara wondered if maybe he had something to say as well about the strange limbo of their friendship since that day she’d come back from Val Royeux.

            _Just spit it out, Zara!_ she thought. _Get your act together and say_ something _!_ But she’d long forgotten the words she’d hoped to say.

            Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I-it’s a… nice day,” he stammered nervously.

            “What?” Zara asked, stopping. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts and embarrassment that she’d failed to glean any meaning from his words. _Maker, I’m hopeless!_

            He sighed and stopped beside her. “There was something you wished to discuss.” His words were rushed and slightly breathless.

            Zara fiddled with the cuff of her off-white blouse, hoping to offset the nervous energy building up in her chest. _Okay, just… just say it._ “Cullen, I…” She huffed when the words wouldn’t come as easily as she’d hoped. “I-I find myself… _thinking_ of you, more than… Ah, well, all the time really.” _Maker,_ please _tell me he understood that mess._

            She thought she might explode when Cullen’s cheeks darkened at her words. “I-I can’t say I haven’t thought about you, as well,” he admitted. “A-a-and what it would be like…”

            They walked a few more steps before Zara stopped and leaned against the stone bualestrade. The wind tugged at her hair, tossing thick locks into her face, and she cursed not putting it up before she’d left her quarters. “What’s stopping you?” she asked gently, tucking a strand behind her ear.

            “You’re the Inquisitor,” he said. With each word he took a step closer. “We’re at war, and you…” He sighed. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

            _Me neither,_ she thought. Her heart raced an impossibly fast tattoo in her chest. _It almost seems wrong to want this when so much is at stake. But Maker help me, I want to so badly._ “I am the Inquisitor,” she conceded. “And we are at war. But those two things don’t change the fact that we are people first, and people can have both their title—whatever it may be—and what happiness they can find outside of it.” She smiled, loving the way his eyes lit up when she did. “And that’s why I’m still here.”

            Cullen gave her that wonderful, _perfec_ t lopsided smile she adored so dearly. He moved closer—so close she could feel him giving off heat like a furnace—and placed a large hand on her waist, murmuring, “So you are. It seems too much to ask. But I want to.”

            He moved even closer, and Zara tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Their noses brushed, lips mere centimeters apart. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut as she felt the warmth of his breath fan across her face. Every inch of her body felt like it was straining towards him as though her very being wanted to be bound up with his. _Kiss me,_ she thought. _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!_

            But just before their lips could meet, the door leading to the tower opened. “Commander!”

            _Shit…_

            Zara turned her head away, cheeks burning, as though looking away might make her disappear. After years in the Circle she was always, _always_ careful to avoid busy areas when doing something even remotely similar to this. Not once had she been caught and to have someone walk in on them, as it were, was an embarrassment she was eager to never repeat again.

            Cullen moved away as the messenger—one who she often saw running messages between Cullen and Leliana. What was his name? Jim? —walked over. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report!” the scout said in a cheery, though business-like, tone.

            He faced the other man and growled, “What?!”

            “Sister Leliana’s report?” Jim repeated, as though it were the most obvious and important thing in the world at that moment. “You wanted it without delay.”

            Zara hid her face behind her hand, hoping to the Maker that Jim wouldn’t recognize her. _Knowing my luck he’s already seen my face,_ she thought. The last thing she needed was the entire castle buzzing with rumors about how she and Cullen had _nearly_ kissed on the battlements. (Except she knew the rumors would be much more scandalous than that, knowing the nobles who wandered Skyhold’s halls.) Maker only knew what her companions (especially Varric) would think. She didn’t see Cullen glare at poor, unsuspecting Jim like he wanted to have the man thrown from the battlements for such a grave error in judgement.

            She lowered her hand to look at them out of the corner of her eye, and saw Jim glance at her in return. Instead of shooting a glare at him she glared at her feet, hoping she could disappear like Cole was wont to do. Jim’s eyes widened and he backed away. “Or… to your office! Right!”

            The door shut loudly behind the scout as he made his (rather hasty) retreat.

            _So much for that,_ Zara thought. _At least it’s out in the open now…_

            She sighed in defeat. “If you need to—!”

            But Zara’s words were cut off when, rather suddenly, Cullen’s lips were on hers. She gave a muffled noise of shock, eyes widening, but soon she was lost in the feeling of his lips, so fucking warm and soft and _perfect_ against her own. Her eyes fluttered shut when he tangled a gloved hand in her hair and the other gripped her hip to bring her closer. His body was warm and solid against her own and she reveled in how the scent of him—armor polish, leather, and the faintest traces of lemon and mint—enveloped her. His stubble scratched against the skin of her cheeks and jaw in the most pleasant way.

            Kissing him for real was so, _so_ much better than the scenarios she’d conjured in her daydreams. (And _actual_ dreams.)

            Eventually Cullen pulled away slightly. “I-I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. His cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen from her kisses. “That was, um, really nice.”

            Maker, but she adored him. She smiled coyly, still dazed from the shock of it all, as she murmured, “I believe that was a kiss.” _Please never let this end!_ “But I can’t be sure, it’s… all a blur.”

            He laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest and permeating her whole being, warming her from the inside out. “Yes, well…”

            Cullen moved closer again, but Zara beat him to the punch, meeting him halfway and pressing her lips to his. She moaned softly as his tongue slid along her lower lip and he slipped inside, tangling his tongue with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close the way she’d thought about so many times before, slowly carding her fingers through his hair, softer than her dreams could ever hope to conjure.

            She didn’t know how long they stood there, holding each other and kissing in the cold afternoon air, but eventually the bell chimed the hour and she remembered the enormous pile of paperwork waiting for her in her quarters.

            “I should go,” she murmured against his lips, brushing her nose against his as she pulled away. “But I’ll see you at the war council.”

            “Will you come to my office afterward?” he asked as his warm golden eyes meeting hers, though he undoubtedly already knew her answer.

            “Always.”

            She slipped out of his arms and walked along the battlements in the direction of the garden, the shortest route back to her quarters. The entire way she couldn’t stop smiling for the life of her, replaying their kiss in her mind over and over. She touched her fingertips to her lips as she thought about how she wanted nothing more than to turn around, run back to him, and kiss him again.

            It had been far, _far_ too long since she’d felt so… _light_ inside.

            When she made it to the main hall, Varric gave her a look as he pored over paperwork at his usual table beside the fireplace. “You alright there, Frosty?”

            Zara smiled. “Never better.”

* * *

 

            Cullen spent the rest of the day in a daze, mentally replaying his and Zara’s kiss on the battlements in his mind over and over again. Each time he recalled how soft her lips felt under his, the feeling of her hands in his hair, the warmth of her body against his own he felt himself blush all the more and his heart raced a little bit faster.

            As frustrated and angry as he’d been when Scout Jim had walked in on them, he couldn’t help but think about how damn _perfect_ that first kiss was, how right it felt to have Zara in his arms once more. Every time he thought about her confession to thinking about him— _him_ of all people—he felt a balloon of joy fill his chest, knowing that he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

            He absently reached into his coat pocket and thumbed at Branson’s coin, which he’d started keeping in his pocket at all times once more since that day Zara had returned from Val Royeux. Though he would never openly admit it, Cullen had long carried belief in luck—ever since the atrocities at Kinloch Hold, at least, when he felt as though keeping the coin had somehow saved him from certain death when the Maker had otherwise turned his gaze away. It was a hard idea to shake after ten long years, but maybe there was something to it given the last few weeks.

            Shaking his head and smiling, he returned to his work.

            About an hour and a half later, there came a knock on his door. “Enter,” he replied, not looking up from the list of recruits set to arrive later that week.

            The door opened and revealed Leliana.

            “Sister Leliana!” Cullen said in surprise. “Can I help you with anything?”

            The spymaster shut the door and took slow, measured steps towards the desk. She stopped several paces from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “So…” she said in her soft voice. “You and Zara, hmmm?”

            He choked on air, his blush giving away his surprise and embarrassment. “W-what?!”

            “No need for that, Commander,” she replied easily, though there was an edge to her tone that made Cullen uneasy. “I would make a poor spymaster if I didn’t know the goings-on of the Inquisition’s own keep.”

            “I-I see,” he murmured. “Do you disagree with it?”

            The former bard laughed. “Hardly. The two of you have been the bronto in the war room for a very long time, and it’s good to see that you resolved it without Josie or myself… _intervening_ on your behalf.”

            He desperately tried not to blush all the more at that. “But…?”

            “There are a great many things which you are not privy to,” Leliana continued, blue eyes glinting dangerously in that way of hers. “Specifically certain… _events_ in Zara’s life that she and her family have tried to bury for a number of years. It is not my place to tell you what these things are—indeed, the Inquisitor has forbidden me from speaking openly about them for respect of her dignity and privacy. But you should know that she has weathered a great deal in a very short amount of time, and I would advise you against any course of action that might hurt her.”

            “You fear that I might break her heart?” Cullen growled.

            She nodded. “I do, yes. You forget I was there that day Honoria freed the tower. Out of everyone here, no one knows the harm you’re capable of inflicting to people who care about you quite like me.” Cullen’s blood froze at the memory. It had been ten years, but he could still recall the tears springing to Honoria’s eyes as he’d snarled at her in response to her attempts to comfort him. _Why would I continue to care for you, after all you did to allow those blood mages to walk free?!_ Leliana paused as she saw Cullen’s mind fixating on the event in question. “Which is why I’m asking you to tread carefully, Commander.”

            He leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk and fingers steepled. “If you’re so concerned then why aren’t you outright forbidding us to continue?”

            Leliana cocked a delicate eyebrow before laughing in that musical way of hers. “Oh, Commander,” she said after several moments. “If I gave that directive to our resident rebel, who also happens to be your lady love, what do you think she’d do? _Listen_?! No, it would only cause her to redouble her efforts. Everything will be much easier if we let this run its course—however long or short that might be.”

            “I take it you and the others are betting on how long this will last,” he said without hint of a question in his voice.

            “Now, now Commander,” Leliana warned. “Just because I was frank with you this time doesn’t mean I’m giving up _all_ of the secrets.” She smiled and gave a slight bow. “And on that note, I will see you at the council later.”

            She turned on her heel and glided out of his office, leaving Cullen to mull over what she’d just told him. He frowned slightly, curious as to what she meant about Zara’s past. Part of him was still reeling from Leliana’s thinly-veiled threat. But there was work to be done yet, and so Cullen returned his focus to the paperwork before him.

            Eventually, as the sun began to sink past the high walls of the keep, Cullen gathered the necessary papers and left for the war room. It felt as though he couldn’t get there fast enough in his excitement to see Zara again.

            As he made his way towards the main keep, he slowed his pace to look less rushed. Maker only knew what the others (especially Varric or Dorian) would think if they saw him practically tripping over himself in his hurry to the war room.

            As he walked through the enormous doors he found Josephine and Leliana quietly conferring with each other over one matter or another, but there was no sign of Zara.

            “Ah, Commander,” the ambassador said with a knowing smile. “How has your day been thus far?”

            It was a loaded question and they all knew it. He felt his cheeks heat and he muttered a quick, “Well, thank you.” _Maker’s breath does the entire castle know?!_ He moved to his place at the far side of the table, shuffling through his papers to both look busy and ensure they were in the proper order, all but praying that she wouldn’t press him further.

            He couldn’t help looking up every few seconds in the hopes that Zara would walk through the doors. Rare was the day that she was even a minute late, but today, it seemed, that she had other duties occupying her time because she burst through the doors, flustered and more than a little annoyed, a whole five minutes late, looking like she’d sprinted the whole way from her tower.

            “Inquisitor! We were—”

            “Eagerly awaiting your presence,” Leliana finished for him, casting him a quick, amused glance. “Some of us more than others.”

            Cullen felt his cheeks redden. “I wasn’t…! I mean… We have work to do.”

            “I’m terribly sorry to have kept you with my tardiness,” she replied. “I’m afraid I was trying to play catch up with some paperwork regarding Halamshiral.”

            “Certainly,” Josephine replied. “You seemed… intent on finishing it earlier this morning.”

            The ambassador and spymaster snickered quietly, and Cullen saw Zara’s cheeks darken in a blush. She met his gaze momentarily and they turned yet darker before she returned her eyes to her paperwork. “Let us get to work then,” she said. “There is much to be done.”

            The next three hours passed in a blur of discussions—some more intense than others—over plans for the peace talks at Halamshiral, the rise in a rebel group of deserters in the Dales and the possibility of moving Inquisition troops into the area once the talks were completed and a more concrete alliance with Orlais was available to them, and Warden Stroud’s information on the Wardens’ disappearance.

            It was only after the sun had gone down and the moon had risen that Zara finally sighed, “If that is all?”

            “It is,” Leliana replied. “Shall we reconvene tomorrow afternoon?”

            “Certainly,” Zara said. “Say at one?”

            As they made to leave Cullen found Zara at his side, close enough to where their arms brushed but not too close to be improper. He met her gaze for a moment and could see the uncertainty there, as though she had no idea if she was supposed to be so close or if he wanted her there.

            Josephine made a beeline back to her desk, where a line of messengers awaited her, and once they were in the main hall Leliana parted with a soft goodbye to make her way back to the aviary in the rotunda.

            There were still several groups of noble and officers in the hall, so Cullen spoke softly. “You said earlier that you to see me in my office, Inquisitor?”

            “Oh, uh, yes, Commander,” she replied.

            As they crossed the rotunda, giving a greeting to Solas as they passed, and across the bridge, Cullen felt the weight of responsibility leave his shoulders—especially once they were inside the office.

            Closing the door, he moved toward her and cupped her cheek in one hand. A gentle smile crossed her face, eyes and posture softening. He pressed a kiss to her lips and murmured, “It’s good to see you.”

            “It’s only been a few hours,” she joked with a light laugh.

            “Yes, well…”

            She pulled away slightly, looking into his eyes as a pensive expression came to her face.

            “Is something wrong?” he asked.

            “No, it’s just…” She huffed, seemingly unable to find the right words. “There was something I was hoping to discuss with you.”

            “Anything,” he answered immediately. _Anything for you._

            She moved away, setting her papers down on the table next to the chess set. “You must forgive me if I admit that I have no idea what I’m doing with this… with us,” she said in a bit of a rush. He set his paperwork down as well and watched as she began to pace. “It’s just… in the Circle romantic attachments were frowned upon. I have very little experience in this area of life because I was never afforded such an opportunity. The one time I tried, well...” She looked up, eyes full of worry. “It didn’t end well, as you know. I’m not used to such things. If it appears as though I am a fish out of water then that is exactly the case. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

            He moved to stand before her, taking her hands in his own. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he replied. “And if I seem uncertain as well, it’s because I haven’t wanted someone in my life for a long, long time.”

            Cullen met her eyes and she smiled. Maker, what he wouldn’t give to make her smile like that every damn day for as long as he drew breath.

            And, if he had any say in it, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six plus months of struggling with mental illness and having life throw things at me left and right and here it is! I appreciate you all for waiting such an agonizingly long time.
> 
> There'll be two ancillary pieces related to this chapter, so keep an eye out for those.
> 
> If you haven't already seen, I've added scenes to several already-published chapters, so check that out if you can! Maybe leave a nice comment or some kudos? <3


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